I’m the invisible man. No presence, d’you see?
I witter thus after another episode at breakfast during my recent hotel stay, the one involving the Chinese takeaway, revealed exclusively in this column last week.
Arriving at a busy time, the place was pretty packed. I was not unnaturally unsure of the arrangements. Self-service? Continental? Fried? Sit anywhere? Why do hotels never tell us?
Still, I entered the large room confidently, and stood in a reasonably visible position to assess the situation.
Nobody came forth
A platoon of serving staff was on hand, with one or two just standing aboot, wearing that awful uniform so popular in Scotland and Ireland: white shirt and black trousers.
As no one came forth to welcome me or tell me what to do, I stopped one of the staff and asked if it was just sit anywhere. Yes, she said, and beetled off. So I did. Sit anywhere, that is.
I saw other folk waddling up to a communal table containing orange juice, croissants and so forth, so ambled over to help myself similarly. After that, I just sat.
Eventually someone came up and asked if I wanted coffee.
I sooked that doon, and watched as the staff took fried food to other tables. Nothing came my way, so I concluded I must have paid for just the “continental” option, which I’d never do knowingly.
But, later, I found the only option was “breakfast”, so I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Am I undeserving?
But, at the time, I thought I must have been undeserving. Twenty minutes after arriving, someone eventually asked if I wanted hot food.
I ordered that, and it took another while, so much so that one decent old stick came up and apologised for the delay, which was caused by people wanting breakfast. Yes, that would be it.
At the time, I thought little of this, even striking up friendly conversations with a couple of the staff, who doubtless appreciated my elegant wit.
But, the following morning, I felt annoyed. It was just as busy, and I noticed folk being greeted on arrival and their full order taken immediately. Indeed, on this occasion, even I got served quicker.
But why had they all just ignored me the day before?
Then there was that Christmas…
It reminded me of a Christmas Day breakfast in Edinburgh some years ago.
My mother had taken ill, and I’d flown down from the island where I then stayed. Still waiting for that breakfast.
It was table service and staff darted aboot, but not one attended me. You say: “Why didn’t you start shoutin’, Rab?”
Well, I suppose I’d other things on my mind. Possibly, I was just bemused, wondering how long I could sit unattended. At any rate, in the end, I walked out. No breakfast. On Christmas Day.
Is it me…?
On each of these two occasions, I was dressed ordinarily, with trousers and everything. I dare say my coupon is kinda “boring beardie”.
But I believe it was a complete lack of projecting presence that had left me hungry while others merrily munched.
Possibly, it’s something I should work on. But what to do? Does one bob about? Hum loudly? Sing? Wear a sombrero?
I’ll look it up on YouTube. If I find anything interesting, I’ll let you know.
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