After giving me the once over he starts to quiz me with a curious look on his face. "What's the guest's name?" He queries.
|Somewhere in the heart of Washington D.C.|
After checking my name against the hotel's guest list he tells me, "Go ahead and put the bags on the luggage dolly for the bellhop to bring up to the room. The suitcases will be there when the guest arrives."
I tell him, "I am the guest."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were the baggage delivery man." He replies, not all that apologetically.
Not knowing exactly what to say, I simply utter, "Oh," while nodding my noggin up and down like one of the mindless Washington Nationals bobblehead dolls I later almost buy in the lobby gift shop. I guess it's my sartorial style, maybe the baseball cap, that fools him. I don't know for sure. I never ask him for clarification.
He then offers: "Would you like the bellhop to carry your bags up to your room?"
I wave off the courtesy and tell him I can carry them up myself. After all I guess I'm somehow suited for the job.