Heartbreak Hotel

“The hotel’s nice enough, but it’s not quite as exciting as I thought,” I said, ducking as a plane flew within inches of our window.
Grumpy was busying himself trying to get the internet working in our room. I was hoping to moan to my facebook buddies and see what normal people were doing for Christmas.
“This is really boring,” I grumbled. “And I’m famished. Some Christmas this is.”
The clerk had explained as it was Christmas the restaurant wouldn’t be open until 5 p.m. So our Christmas lunch turned out to be a couple of club sandwiches served in our room.
As the afternoon wore on, it got worse. The planes grew more frequent, Grumpy was unable to get the internet going and I started getting e mails on my Blackberry from friends astonished we hadn’t just gone back home.
Finally at 5 p.m. we went downstairs.
“Never mind,” said Grumpy. “We can have a nice meal in the restaurant with all these vouchers the airline gave us.”
The restaurant was closed. It’s Christmas, don’t you know? No bar. Nothing.
“But you can have room service,” said the receptionist helpfully.
“We had that for lunch,” boomed Grumpy. “It’s Christmas Day and I’m not spending any more time in my room!”
You know how people say private hospitals are just like hotels? Well when you’re confined to your room, hotels turn out to be just like hospitals.
“Hang on,” I said. “I’ve had an idea. This is what we’ll do.”
We ordered a bottle of wine and picked it up from reception. We drank it in front of the fire. All of it.
Then Grumpy ran up to our room and left a note for room service on the door. The waiter duly delivered the meal downstairs to us. We then picked it up, marched it into the darkened restaurant and sat eating it on our own. The waiters were less attentive than usual for an American restaurant, probably because there weren’t any. But by then we were too drunk to notice.