Don’t bring it out.

Wednesday morning, in the hotel with non opening windows, I wake to the smell of smoke.

So I put on my pants and a shirt and go downstairs.

The desk clerk who handles the audit is a willowy brunette, a nice backsidse which she shows off with tight black pants and then covers with the tail of a white mens shirt. The boy who deals with the breakfast is maybe nineteen, and is in fact a bit smaller than her.

He put biscuits in the oven, apparently, and then went to visit with her. Frankly, I don’t blame him. However, he let the biscuits cook, maybe an hour.

Now, biscuits and gravy is a staple all across the land. with a bit of butter, flour, salt, milk, baking soda, you can toss together biscuits in so little time it’s not funny. This kid has taken a shortcut and is using canned mix. All he’s got to do is cook them and watch it.

I saw the biscuits in question: Charcoal briquettes. THe kid and the desk clerk looked very sheepish as they tried to waft the cloud of smoke out the front door.

I walked over to the only window in the hotel that opens, the dining room window, and the smoke flew out as soon as I did.

They looked at me as if I’d just saved their jobs- and I might well have. I imagine they were a minute or two away from setting off the fire extinguishers.

Sheesh, folks. I’m all for a little work nookie, if you can get it, but don’t set the place on fire.