Earlier this week, someone of great importance to me was a guest of yours. This person soaked in one of your bath tubs, drooled on at least three of your pillows, and almost certainly lost one of your TV remotes.
This is not a bad person, by the way. This is someone who will not trouble you for an extra roll of toilet paper or pander for a complimentary toothbrush, someone who will not sneer at fellow guests who go back for thirds and fourths at the breakfast buffet, and someone who will politely refuse your staff’s diligent offers to help carry/load/pick-up/drop-off/repair/recover/hide/incinerate the cluster of mish-mashed luggage jammed behind the mirrored closet door. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more acquiescing guest.
That’s why this person didn’t raise all holy hell when room service billed $28 for a tuna salad sandwich.
I’ll say that again: $28 for a tuna salad sandwich.
$ as in dollars; 28 as in 3 more than 25 and 2 less than 30.