Room Service

sarahkiddsarahkidd on 1223969108|%B %d

I called Room Service this morning.

Room Service seems to be the specialty of the restaurant in our new hotel. Yesterday morning we ventured up to the roof to the actual restaurant, but by the time our breakfast was served, I think we were more fried than our eggs. We had to move our table into the shadow of a gigantic and ancient boiler to eat our meal in any comfort at all. So, emboldened by our success in ordering tea in our room last night, we decided to try our luck at breakfast.

“Room Service.”

“Hello. I’m in room 201.”

“301?”

“No—201.”

“203.”

Two-oh-one.”

“201. Okay.”

“I’d like a vegetable sizzler, a fried egg, a banana pancake—“

“Lemon pancake?”

Lemon pancake wasn’t even on the menu.

“No, banana pancake.”

“Oh, banana pancake. Okay.”

“And two chai.”

“Okay. Boiled egg, banana pancake, 2 chai. Yes?”

I decided not to worry about the fried egg. “Did you get the vegetable sizzler?”

“Sugar. Okay.”

“No. Sizzler. Vegetable sizzle.”

“Vegetable sizzler. Okay. Boiled egg, banana pancake, 2 chai, vegetable sizzler. Room 301.”

“Room two-oh-one.”

“Room 201. Okay. Bye.”

Twenty minutes later, the vegetable sizzler arrived. And nothing else. Apparently there’d been some confusion, and half our meal was delivered to Room 301.

The delivery boy seemed a little disappointed in the tip I gave him.

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