Across Continents

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Paper plane or crumpled ball

Paper plane or crumpled ball. I just couldn’t quite decide which would best propel the replies I’d received towards the waste bin. Both from the grandly titled Chief Executive Office of the well known chain that’d run the down-trodden motel I recently stopped in. One would have sufficed. Indeed, in what I’d thought was a rather witty note to the Chief Executive Officer inviting him to spend a night in the establishment, I’d suggested a postcard would have been quite acceptable. Adding I was simply looking forward to hearing all about his experience, a chance to compare notes.

I’d painted what I thought had been a fair picture – tired interior; ample scuffed paintwork, and an ambience somewhere between a student hall of residence and a bail hostel. Adding that he might find the TV a little perturbing, but not to worry, that’d be interference, not double vision. Assuming, of course, he’d first mustered sufficient coinage to feed the parking meter. Before you think me a little harsh, I’d mentioned the one – the only – redeeming feature; the staff, friendly and helpful, their staying power quite remarkable given frequent criticism from disgruntled customers.

Final glance over the letters I’d received. One with a signature resembling a slinky spring, the other a pentagram. Otherwise, little else of merit, meaningless platitudes written in haste by a minion. Apologetic they weren’t; if I had ever been inclined to give them a second chance, not any more. Ball it is.

[Ken now makes use of the Premier Inn chain – much nicer, and about the same cost]


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