Mister Patel

Another accomodations incident worth repeating. On the road I decide to stay at an Econolodge. Safe. Inexpensive. Free Internet. Sounds good.

Now I enter the office and and there it is. You can smell it. Currie. It is Indian owned. No problem, I admire my Hindu brethren and their nack for service. Unlike other fat american men from the south, I do not wave the flag at them. I embrace them.

But Mr. Patel came out of the back with the red dot. Cool I thought. then I noitced a great deal of war paint type of shit on his face. It scared the bejesus out of me. Well after collecting myself, we completed the trasaction. He gave me the key to room 109. I gathered my things and made my way back to the room.

As I opened the door I set my things on one of the beds. I thought it was funny that the TV was left on. Then I looked on the floor and saw a pair of boots, there was some books on the table. HOLY SHIT! Poon Jab gave me the key to someone elses room! Then I hear it, a man, shitting with the bathroom door open. I freeze thinking the man is tyranasaurus rex, like he only sees movement, yep that was my idea. Sit still for Shitasaurus Rex. I decide I have to get out quick, so he does not see who I am. Easier said for a 350 lb man with a computer bag, back pack, and Subway sandwich.

I turn and walk out tripping over the boots. I exclaim ‘Oh, shit!” and ran. I go back to Mujibar, and say “Dude, you gave me a key to someone elses room. What the hell?” In my best indian voice he answered “there is nobody in there!” I answered well “nobody” is firing a rocket off in your room.” I think I heard Captain Currie say “god damnit”. Can he request that?

He then gave me a room, minus, the 50 year old man shitting. Wierd.

One Response to “Mister Patel”

  1. Nate Says:

    That’s f’ing halarious! Could only happen to you. The clifhanger for me in your whole ordeal was the sandwich. Did it make it out okay? Could u even enjoy it after such a altercation. Man, poor sandwich, such trauma.

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