Of all the rural hotels, guesthouses and lodges in the area… they had to end up here!
Not in any of the other 200 from France to here, NO, of course not. It had to be in my rural house, the one that is the most hidden, the one that requires a small detour, the one that is not at the roadside with neon lights flashing “HERE, ENTER WITHOUT ASKING”. No. They came here.
Because, my friends, if there’s one thing I know for sure in this life, it’s that I must have a magnet for oddball customers. A radar. A spell. Something. Because this is not normal.
Act I: the spontaneous Belgians
Yesterday I get a call from some Belgians. No reservation. Neither by Booking, nor by Airbnb, nor by carrier pigeon. Nothing. Crazy.
-Hello, do you have a room for tonight?
-Yes, of course.
-Where are you?
And I, with my natural kindness (which I put to the test more and more every day), explain everything in detail. I even send them a WhatsApp with the location and details, because you have to be foresighted. Everything is fine. Everything in order.
-We will arrive between 7 and 8 o’clock, thank you.
-Perfect.
With this in mind, I decide that I have some free time and I go to have lunch with my friend Andrés at the Club Deportivo de Banyoles. A quiet meal. A pleasant chat. Relaxation. A luxury in my hospitality life. But I hadn’t even taken two bites of the first dish when… PIM. WhatsApp.
-We are at the door.
I look at the message. I look at my plate. I look at Andres.
-But they told me they were coming at 7 or 8?
I respond with all the patience of a Buddhist monk on his best day:
-I’m eating out. I was told you were arriving later. I’ll be at least an hour.
And there, the moment of the century:
-That’s not my problem. I want the room now.
Psycho music playing in my head.
-Well, it’s not going to be, ma’am. There are schedules.
-You are very inconsiderate.
-No, ma’am. I am consistent, which is not the same thing.
-Well, we’re leaving.
-Great. Have a nice day.
I block my cell phone, take a sip of wine (because this deserves it) and continue eating. But of course, my head does not stop spinning. Andrés notices it and tells me:
-Come on, finish and we’ll go.
So no coffee, no dessert, no after dinner. All down the drain.
Second act: the return of the Belgians (plot twist!)
I return home with a mixture of resignation and exhaustion. Let’s see if the other guests arriving at 21:00 are more normal.
But surprise! A car planted at the door.
I stop, get off, ask:
-Good afternoon, what did you want?
-Hello, it’s us, the ones on the phone.
-The ones who had left?
-Yes, but we couldn’t find anything cheaper.
AHHHHHH.
I breathe in. I exhale. I mentally recite a mantra of patience.
-Okay. No problem. Come in, park in the parking lot and go down to reception.
Act III: The Dilemma of the Perfect Room
I show you the first room. Warm, cozy, cozy, dreamy.
But no. That would be too easy.
-Don’t you have another one? My husband doesn’t like this one.
Of course. Because after going away, coming back, and getting all worked up, it was obvious that they were going to be exquisite.
We go up, I show them another one.
-Well… it looks like it…
I am already breathing a sigh of relief, thinking that we have reached the end of the ordeal.
I explain the schedule. If they need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen ironing. Everything in order.
BUT…. half an hour later I see them in the courtyard, debating as if they were at an international philosophy congress. I look at the room… they haven’t even brought up the suitcases.
I turn off lights, close door, come down again.
-All right?
-We are undecided.
-Well, when you decide, let me know.
I go up. I keep ironing. My chocolate, my repeated series of Energy. Everything is fine. But, twenty minutes later, again at the door.
-You don’t have another room? This one, to my husband….
Ah, we’re still at it!
-Yes, of course. Follow me.
I show them another one and I can’t stand it anymore.
-Let’s see, this one yes, this one no, this one I like and I’ll eat it myself?
Sepulchral silence.
-What?
-Nothing, an old song.
They are still hesitating. They tell me they are going to think about it.
-Okay, but if they don’t want it, turn off the light and close the door.
I’m still going about my business, with the zen mode activated. But no.
They play again.
-We kept the first one we saw.
-Ah, great.
-But… we don’t know where he is.
YOU KNOW WHAT? It doesn’t matter. I have nothing else to do.
I go downstairs with them, show them again, and it looks like I do now.
But no. Because there was still to be a round of questions.
-Can you bring us a beer?
-How do you heat the pizza?
-Is breakfast too early?
-What do you recommend us to visit?
There my soul floats away to the beyond.
Luckily, there were other French people in the house and they hooked up with them. From the window I see them chatting animatedly and even looking like they are enjoying themselves. Or so I think. We’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.
What I do know is that my sainted patience has gone up a notch today.
My goodness, what a cross.
From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!
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