Case and point.
On a slow winter night, a wiry guy strolled into the lobby and without saying hello made some, um..peculiar, requests.
"I need three things," the man demanded with his ring, middle and index fingers flung toward me. "A smoking room...porn...and safety."
He spoke like a fast-talking hick just without the twang and straw coming from the side of his mouth.
"I can only give you one of those sir," I replied slightly confused yet oddly amused.
"PORN?" He excitedly yelped.
"No, sir," I chuckled back. "I can do safety but we are all non-smoking and we don't have any adult films."
"Well, hell, I'll just go somewhere else. You know, most of the time I just smoke in the room anyway. You see, I don't smoke cigarettes or weed dude. I like to party. D'ya know what I'm talking about?"
"Ehh, I guess." I didn't.
"Well, you like to party or what? You look like you like to party," he said without waiting for my answer. "If you give me a deal, I'll let you party with me, if you know what I mean."
At this point I had realized I was not at risk of an over the counter shanking and simply apologized but I could not give a deal.
"Well, can you at least tell me where I can get some porn?"
"There is a blockbuster in town," I replied.
"BLOCKBUSTER?!?! Shit, I need the real stuff bro!"
And with that, he turned and left the Sketch Hotel.
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