You arrive at a hotel in Washington at around 1930, after getting up at 0330 for a 0415 taxi to the airport. London-Copenhagen-Washington was half the price of a direct flight hence the crazy hours. You order room service planning some comfort food, you eat it, drink the watery beer (sorry I love American for many things but not the beer) and collapse into bed to sleep. The phone rings waking you from a deep History Channel induced sleep. Guess what? It’s customer service wanting to know if you enjoyed the meal.
Well I didn’t, the burger was dry even after pouring a bottle of ketchup over it and the fries looked like they had been into the deep fat at least three times, shrivelled would be a generous description of their condition. 20% service had been added automatically to the bill and the staff member went out muttering when I didn’t add any extra. It’s adding insult to injury to phone me up an hour after delivery, waking me up to the point where I have to write a blog post to get it out of my system. Before you ask, no I didn’t complain, the British heritage and all that. However tonight I am going to a nice place just down from Farragut Square that does real burgers.
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