Okay, cats and kittens, let me tell you about MY day. It started late last night/this morning, when I got back from the con after having a wonderful time sitting in the con hotel lobby talking with three really cool people, one of whom was Facebook friend Nadine Kharabian, but I honestly thought when we broke up and I headed back to my hotel that it was somewhere just past midnight. In the lobby I found out it was almost 4am. Shock. Anyway, after calling Deb, I fell into a comatose slumber, but because I had a morning panel I carefully set my alarm. My phone has remained locked all trip, so the time was US, but I just did the calculations, as Ive been doing, and set it in time to get a little breakfast into me before the panel. Well, the US contingent can probably see this coming, but I didnt know (being in England, where its already happened) that this was Daylight Savings Saturday night, and so the clocks had gone back an hour, and the difference was no longer seven hours but eight. The alarm went off at the right time, but the right time was now an hour different, and instead of having time to scarf a couple of quick saveloys and jog through the Siberian-force gale to the con, I was already thirty-five or forty minutes late for my panel. I will pass lightly over everything but the kindness of the other panel members, who did not humiliate me as they had every right to, but instead let me waste the last five minutes of the panel babbling about why I was late. Then, to top things off, after a very enjoyable time hanging with and saying goodbye to many dear friends, including the Smarch contingent, my voice scratchy but still serviceable, I walked back through the screaming winds to my hotel. In front, I saw a woman struggling to get in through the door with a small child at her side and a large decorated cake in her hands. I sprang forward in my reflexive, Boy-Scoutish way, but as I reached her I found out that my voice was entirely gone. So instead of a stranger saying, May I help you with that door? what she got was a bearded bald man waving his arms at her and making strange squeaking noises, which only got weirder as I struggled to make my voice work. Gesticulate, gesticulate. Squeak, roar, squeak. More hand waving. You get the picture. The poor woman, needless to say, threw herself deep into the revolving door to escape, almost crushing her child and dropping her huge, wobbling pastry, then dashed away across the lobby in mortal terror. Fun! So here I am. Cant call the few London friends I was planning to at least call before I leave Tuesday, can only use the internet here in the hotel lobby, and Ive had three plus hours of sleep. You may never hear from me again, except as a terrifying urban legend in the hotel profession -- the squeaking bald apparition who haunts the lobby of the Seafront Holiday Inn. But YOU know the real story. And as usual, its weirder than fiction.
Posted on: Sun, 03 Nov 2013 20:49:42 +0000
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