Posts Tagged ‘new york city’

Smear

I hopped off a bus, caught an uber and met my husband in the hotel lobby of a New York City hotel. Gave him a big hug and a kiss because we hadn’t seen each other for a month.

Once he was given the keys to the room I couldn’t wait to use the bathroom. Didn’t want to use the toilet on the bus.

Rush to bathroom in the suite. Everything looked clean and tidy on my dervish like sweep through the area.

I’m just about unzipping and lifting up the toilet cover and I spy a smear of brown on the seat.

I’m like, “What?”

Beckon husband.

I call front desk. State that the bathroom is unclean. She’s terribly apologetic. And will take care of asap. My last words into phone, “I think it’s feces.”

We leave the room. Husband heads to fellow at front desk with photo on phone.

He tells me that the guy said, “Oh, that’s shi*&ty. I’d be pis*ed.”

I laughed out loud. Did he actually, really say that?

Yep. Gotta love someone with a sense of humor.

The guy, once he was done funning, totally took care of us.

I’ve been in a lot of hotel rooms in my life. And experienced a lot along the way.

This was a first.

Hopefully a last.

 

 

 

 

 

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My cousin, Elizabeth, asked that I keep the stories coming. So, in honor of my heritage, there will be an Irish theme until St. Patrick’s Day.

I was in New York City some years ago for the wedding of my husband’s co-worker. It was a fabulous weekend.

The wedding Mass was great. With a bagpiper on the front steps of the church as a grand finale.

The church was in the city but the reception was scheduled a few hours later on Long Island. My husband hired the driver that he had used previously on business trips to the city. He said, “You’ll love him. He looks like your brother, Patrick. He’s an Irish fella with a great personality.”

He could have just left it at Irish fella and I would have filled in the blank “with a great personality!”

Note: “Irish fella” in this posting refers to Irish American.

So, I met John, and I did love him right away. The one thing about people who grow up with a similar background is that they “get” each other.

He regaled us with stories. And he would occasionally look in the rear view mirror at me and say, “You know what I’m saying, right, Mary?”

I would say, “Yep, I do.”

He’d start, “I just can’t wait for tomorrow……”

And I finished for him, “Because I get better looking every day!”

Anyway, John, won a battle with childhood cancer but lost his leg. He was telling us about Ted Kennedy visiting him in the hospital. Ted also had a son who lost his leg to cancer. But took the time out to visit this kid. No fanfare. No publicity. Just visiting a sick boy because he knew what it was like to have a child in the same scary, life changing situation. John will never forget that day or¬†Ted’s kindness.

My heart just warmed hearing that Ted walked into John’s room that day.

I love hearing about compassionate acts. Especially¬†when no one’s looking. It is so very powerful.

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