The Jack Butler Hotel
Once again we have illuminated the “No” on the vacancy sign out
front of the ole Jack Butler Hotel as we are preparing for guests come
morning. This time it will be the other
half of my wife’s parental units and we are indeed looking forward to the
visit. I need deodorant and the children
are desperate to embark on the side trip we have planned to Disneyland
Paris. There is but one small hiccup at
the Hotel, and that hiccup has management in an uproar. As you all know by now, my current scale for
a successful hotel stay is the availability of a free WiFi connection. Unfortunately, the internet woes at the Jack
Butler Hotel persist and I have to give the JBH two thumbs down for their lack
of workable WiFi. We have a connection,
slow though it may be, however it is a bit confusing and apparently runs much
like a prepaid wireless phone. Your
subscription pays for a certain amount of data at a certain speed, and once you
are done . . . YOU ARE DONE. They are of
course kind enough to allow you to purchase and extra Giga or so at an elevated
rate for those suckers that weren’t smart enough to go all in for the highest
price package. Yup, Jack is one of those
suckers. We hit the screen of death just
a week in and had apparently run through our entire months allotment of credit
in that short time. Perhaps we were
surfing more than usual in a binge and purge reaction to our recent internet
starvation diet, but one thing is clear . . . this isn’t going to work out as
currently configured. Telecommunications
has proven to be an absolute nightmare since our move and the cost seems to be
increasing by the day. The satellite television
is free except for installation and the boxes which cost a small fortune. The monthly rate on my mobile phone is hardly
worth the price of admission since I can scarcely receive the slightest of
signals here in the sticks despite a recent SIM upgrade that was supposed to
remedy the problem. To add insult to injury,
most of the buttons on Bill Gate’s wonder machine have busted and the screen
looks like the windshield of a Kia after a serious collision with a large
woodland creature. The fine folks at
Orange have outfitted us with a home phone, so we should be able to call back
home again without draining our bank account.
Despite our telecommunications woes, we are going strong and the
children seem to be absorbing the language at a prodigious rate. That is what happens when you get thrown in
to the deep end without your floaties . . . you either sink or swim. Fortunately, both of my guys float pretty
well and their educational endeavors are going quite well. On my end, I am making fast friends with the
neighbor. He and I now see each other
with some frequency and we share romantic evening walks down the lane as we
drag our trash containers to the end of the road for the following days
collection. The harvest is in full swing
and tractors are constantly running back and forth to the fields collecting the
fruits of their labor (pun intended). I
have used our trash day walks as a way to learn more about the grape growing
process and it is all quite fascinating.
We have not been asked to assist with any of the farming yet, but we are
keen to dig a little deeper. We have
offered the occasional assistance with language for labeling to be used in the
US market and I offer what I can by returning the trash can from the end of the
drive whenever I retrieve my own. We
have actually become friendly enough to be invited to the theater next month. The truth is, membership has its
privileges. As it turns out, a theater
group from the big city has expressed an interest in taking their act on the
road and their chosen venue will be the castle next door to my home. The owners appear to be avid theater goers
and were gracious enough to invite us over for the dinner theater to take place
at their home in October. Looking
forward to that event as it will certainly prove to test and expand my
knowledge of the French language. I
still suffer with it a bit, for those interested in such information.
That is really all that is fit to report for now and I will try to
sneak online with Ninja quickness to post this thing before my internet
connection runs out of credits and I have to insert more tokens. Feels kind of like surfing the interent at a
laundro-mat or self service car wash.
All I need is one of those change dispensers and a beeping noise whenever my time is getting ready to
run its course. In parting, it seems
that the broken toe on my right foot is healing and causes less pain with each
day that passes. I am able to run on it
a bit and cycling does not seem to be a problem, so all is well that ends
well. The only problem now is that my
feet are becoming as ugly as my wife’s.
Ok, I know what you are thinking, and I love the woman dearly, but she
has got some ugly ass feet. They look
like they belong on Fred Flintstone and unfortunately mine aren’t now far
behind. Bent and mutilated like a
half-eaten crunchy Cheetoh, both of my smallest toes seem to now merely act as my
remaining toes ugly friend. You know
what I am talking about right? The ugly
friend ploy that reasonably attractive women use when going out to make
themselves look even better? That is how
my big toes treat my little toes. I am afraid
the hurt feelings are going to lead to a revolt or at the very least self
esteem therapy for the lot of us. Take
care for now. Talk again as soon as I
feed more coins into the slot. R.
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