This weekend, I rode Amtrak from Baltimore to New York with Sam and his girlfriend, Cheryl. I was on my way to a family event, while Sam and Cheryl were heading for a little R&R at a branch of Fancy Hotel. Cheryl has a good friend at Fancy Hotel’s corporate HQ, and Sam was hoping to parlay that, along with his frequent guest status, into a major room upgrade. Unfortunately, when Sam called the hotel, the reservations clerk was none too impressed with Sam’s connections. Apparently, the clerk, “Jason,” told Sam he was considered a “regular” guest. But Sam was adamant: He demanded that upgrade.
Suddenly, it went from a request to a requirement. The more he was put off, the more determined (and rude) he became. I listened without comment as he climbed the staff ladder through a series of phone calls. Each subsequent conversation was more patronizing– “I don’t think Jason really understands about my status”—and more strident—“Who gets the corner suite, then? Who could possibly be ahead of me in line?”
I, for one, was fairly certain that Sam’s reservation was going to be conveniently “lost,” and he would end up sleeping in a broom closet. But Sam did finally reach the hotel manager, and he was promised his upgrade. I certainly hope Cheryl and Sam get married, because then we can keep an eye on them as they game the system. Even though I don’t know them, I fully expect to hear about it. Somehow. Like on the evening news. Or on Facebook.
As I said, I don’t know Sam or Cheryl; we’ve never actually met. But I know far more about them than they know about me, since I couldn’t help overhearing the whole exchange, including Sam’s cell phone number, which he recited loudly several times during this episode, along with the correct spelling of his name, and his girlfriend’s name, and, finally, his hotel frequent guest number. It would have been very easy, as I was typing notes on my laptop nearby, to record all of this information (and it can all be YOURS for the low, low price of…).
You might think I’m going to talk about privacy, and how there isn’t any, and how people need to pay more attention to that, and how, anyway, it’s rude to ignore the fact that not everyone in the train car (besides writers and other identity thieves) wants to hear your phone conversation.
But you already know that. What I’m interested in is something else. I’m interested in randomness.
When you get on a train, you find an empty seat. You might avoid sitting near someone if they smell bad, or it they’re a toddler, but otherwise, all you care about is finding a seat. This was how I ended up sitting behind Cheryl and Sam. If I’d taken a survey of the people around me first, I suppose it might have been different: “Excuse me, sir, can you describe your unpleasant habits? Nail-biting? Nose-picking? Talking to yourself? No? One last thing, are you obnoxious and entitled? No? Okay honey, let’s sit here…”
For years, I traveled alone between D.C. and New York, and usually someone would sit down next to me. I guess I fooled them by looking sane. Or at least, I tried not to smell bad. Now and then, I had memorable encounters with people I never would have met if not for this random situation. The same thing used to happen when I commuted to work on the Metrobus. Difference on the bus is, you were supposed to stare straight ahead and avoid conversation, so if someone spoke to you, chances were good they were actually crazy. On the train, it’s a much bigger decision to sit next to someone, because you may be stuck with them for 2-3 hours. I usually found an empty seat, because I got on at the first station, and invariably the seats would fill and a passenger would sit next to me at a subsequent stop. It may sound surprising, but I’ve never been disappointed about who sat down next to me. I once had a two-hour conversation on Amtrak with a soldier who told me his life story by explaining his tattoos. (Yes, only the ones you could safely reveal in public!)
On another train ride, I was introduced to a craft hobby I didn’t know existed, when a staid-looking businessman sat down by me and opened his briefcase to reveal his creations: golf ball sculptures. He made little people by stacking golf balls, gluing them together, and dressing them in appropriate outfits (e.g., golf ball barber, golf ball bagpiper, and of course, golf ball…golfer…). I imagine him in his basement workshop with a pair of pinking shears, trimming the bagpiper’s kilt. Not exactly my thing…and at first, I thought, three hours to New York, and counting… But when he got off the train, he gave me one of his sculptures. I still have it.
Compared with these encounters, this current episode of The Suite Life of Sam and Cheryl was not only irritating, but ordinary. While I was mildly surprised that an Amtrak train to New York could run out of pizza and pretzels before reaching Baltimore, and that both bathrooms in my car were already nonfunctional, it was no surprise that someone with a clear sense of entitlement, when given the slim means to exercise it, would attempt to do so.
I found myself wondering what kind of room Sam might get if he had never called and requested an upgrade. Or what kind he would get if he had been polite to the first clerk he spoke with. I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and ask him, what did he think would happen if he took whatever room they gave him? Sure, it’s not the same as sitting next to a stranger on the bus. But I had the sense, from listening to Sam and his girlfriend, that Sam was the type who insulated himself from the kind of random, unpredictable experiences that could result in a keepsake golf ball sculpture. Okay, maybe that’s a bad example… What I mean is, I’m pretty sure Sam is a person who leaves nothing to chance.
Frankly, I was hoping someone HAD written down his information. Someone who might call the hotel and let them know that actually Cheryl and Sam had had a last-minute change of plans, and they were sorry but they needed to cancel their reservation. Or, maybe someone could call Sam and explain that there was a problem with the credit card he’d used to hold the room. Or, wouldn’t it be fun to do both!
Note: I am not advocating the use or misuse of a stranger’s personal information, or the collection of such information for shadyish means. I’m not advocating it, but if it happens…by chance…please call me, because I want to be there to see Sam’s reaction.
I would not do anything like that. No, really, I wouldn’t. But I bet the hotel clerk made sure they got the special corner suite, the one with bedbugs.
**Please note, THE BETHESDA LITERARY COOPERATIVE, a small group of writers and other literary types, IS LOOKING FOR OFFICE SPACE. Please email me through my website www.paulawhyman.com for details.**
For more from Paula Whyman, see www.paulawhyman.com and her online parody newspaper www.bethesdaworldnews.com.
