So I am at my beloved Beverly Hills Hotel on Sunset Boulevard. Years ago a client put me up here when I was in L.A. on business and I fell in love with the place. When I’m in town and feel a splurge is in order, I return.
Anyhoo, my TC (Travel Companion) and I are staying in an oh-so grand
room in the main wing of the hotel. Upon
returning from a night on the town, we noticed that the room around the corner
from ours had a burly, menacing security guard (think Mike Tyson but angrier
looking) posted in the hall. We wondered
who might be staying there but then forgot about it.
Now it’s the next morning and we are heading out. Just as we exit our room, an entourage of
people exits the room that was being guarded the night before. Now there are a half dozen of these
gi-normous Tyson types with more bling than Joan Rivers on QVC and our paths
are intersecting. My TC moves aside but
I get uppity and think that as a repeat guest of the BHH, I do not need to
yield to this band of bullies so I end up kind of merging into their crew as we
descend the main staircase to the lobby.
Just then my sunglasses fall from their perch on top of my head down over
my eyes. I am trying to be cool and
unaffected so I just leave them. Bad
idea. Just as we near the lobby, I trip
and fall down the stairs, shooting out of this entourage like a bad gutter ball
into the lobby. As I lay in a heap at
the bottom of the stairs, everyone from the lobby is looking to see what
happened (including, ironically, Chevy Chase who used to parody President Ford
doing the same thing), the concierge is running toward me asking if I am OK, my
TC is pretending not to know me, and the rapper 50 Cent (whose entourage I
later learn it is) says, ”That’s what happens when you wear shades inside”, as
he and his crew step over me and keep on walking.
Not my finest hour.
No comments:
Post a Comment