Last December, Amy & I stopped in on one of the hotels in New Orleans where we were planning to reserve a block of rooms for guests at our wedding. The place was still under reconstruction, but one of the upper floors had just been refurnished, the desk clerk told us. The guard would take us up and show us around, if we wanted.
The guy took us upstairs and we toured a couple of the newly decorated rooms. They looked great. Walking behind the security guard, I noticed the large sidearm hanging from his belt, and I thought, “This guy could be a complete psycho. He could shoot us right now and dump our bodies somewhere, and no one would find us.”
It was a weird, passing thought, but it was conditioned by being in a pretty abandoned city.
The hotel worked out for a bunch of our guests, even if my buddy Ian and his family had a problem with their door not locking correctly and had to get moved to a new room at a weird hour (sorry, guys).
This morning, I was scrolling through Drudge and came across a news item about — wait for it — a psycho security guard at a New Orleans hotel popping a visitor in the face with his .40 while they argued over who had the more extensive military record!
“Well,” thought I, “it couldn’t possibly be the same hotel . . . Oh, wait. Yeah, that’s the Royal Saint Charles, alright.”