“BUT IT WAS THERE IF YOU WANTED IT!” BY ANDY S CHATFIELD They say that time flies when you’re having fun. Well, they are absolutely right! I had been looking forward to this weekend break away from the tedium of my job as an accountant for several long months, and it appeared to have gone in the blink of an eye. We, that is my wife and I, had arrived at this decidedly up-market hotel deep in the Kentish countryside just after seven on Thursday evening, having battled with the unavoidable rush of traffic leaving London; weary office workers just like me, anxious to get away from the City for the long Easter Bank-Holiday weekend. Despite the many and varied amenities on offer, we had done little except relax, read and stroll around the extensive grounds, taking in the beauty of our temporary surroundings. And now, here we were, checking out just before midday on Monday. If asked, I would have sworn that some malevolent gremlin had wound the world forwards by three days, and that we had only arrived the previous evening! (I made a mental note to check the car engine when we got to it to see if it was still warm). But I did feel relaxed, far more relaxed than one night’s sleep would have accounted for. Until I received the bill! My legs grew weak. My hands shook. My vision blurred. Now, as I said, I am an accountant. I work for a very large, very successful law firm in the City, and have done so for over twenty years. During that time I have been called upon, on more than one occasion, to indulge in what is euphemistically called ‘creative accounting’. Another term for this practice might be ‘padding out the bill’, if you follow my drift. But never, never in all my years had I come across creativity, padding, or whatever term you wish to use, such as I saw before me then. I simply could not believe what was before my eyes. The itemised bill contained so many extras that the basic charge had almost doubled by the time it was totalled up. I looked up into the untroubled eyes of the young receptionist. I read it through carefully. “This bill is incorrect,” I said, as calmly as I could, striving mightily to keep control of my more base emotions. “May I see sir?” he asked. I handed the bill over and waited while he checked it against the computer record in front of him which, unfortunately, I couldn’t see. “It appears to be in order to me sir,” he said at length. “Perhaps sir would be so kind as to tell me what he think is wrong with it?” “Tell you what I think is wrong with it!” I said, still just managing to keep calm. “Tell you what I think is wrong with it!” It was no use; I couldn’t hold it in any more. “I’ll tell you what I think is wrong with it!” My voice rose steadily as I told him what I thought was wrong with it. “This so-called bill is the most accomplished work of fiction I have encountered since I stopped believing in Father Christmas and The Tooth Fairy!” By the time I got to ‘Tooth Fairy’ I was shouting rather loudly. (You may take this as a measure of how annoyed I was; we accountants are usually such peaceful, unassuming chaps). “I assure you sir….” I didn’t allow him to finish assuring me with what I had no doubt would have been some banal platitude or other. “Get me the manager. NOW!” I actually appeared to have ruffled the chap’s feathers. He was apparently unaccustomed to guests querying their bill, and he certainly wouldn’t have expected it from such a meek looking chap as me. (We accountants tend not to go in for the rugged look). It was a measure of the extent to which this young man’s feathers had been ruffled that, without another word of protest, he picked up the receiver of the desk telephone, pressed a button and, after a brief pause, said, “Sir, it’s reception here. I have a rather irate guest querying his bill and demanding, rather forcefully, to see you sir.” Another brief pause, then, “Yes sir.” Another pause. “Yes sir, I know that sir, but…” Another pause. “Yes sir, of course I’ve been trained to…” I snatched the phone from his hand. “I assume I am speaking to the manager?” I demanded. “Who is this?” came the reply. Ooh, I could tell we were not going to get along. I’m sure you know the type of voice; silky, oily, condescending; the type of voice that tells you that you are not going to like the person behind it. “This,” I told him, “is a guest who is refusing to pay an exorbitant bill, that’s who this is. I want you out here in reception right now.” The line went dead. A few seconds later a man, who just had to be the owner of that voice, appeared through a door marked ‘Private’ behind the reception desk. He was just as I had imagined him; tall, thin, with slicked back dark hair greying at the temples, and a pencil thin moustache. He was wearing morning dress: black tail-coat, grey pin-stripe trousers, white shirt, black tie, white handkerchief neatly folded to a sharp point in his top pocket. I couldn’t see his shoes, but I knew they were polished to a high sheen. The look he gave the unfortunate young man on the desk told him without words that he would be spoken to later, and that he may well find himself seeking employment elsewhere by the end of the day. He turned his attention to me. “Good day sir. Do I understand that sir has a query with regard to his bill?” Smarmy! That was the word I was looking for, smarmy! This man was one hundred percent smarm. “Yes, sir does.” I tried to match his patronising tone, but it didn’t quite come off. It was foreign to me, whereas he had no doubt perfected it over many years. He turned again to the young receptionist, snapped his fingers and held out his hand. The young man handed him the bill. He studied it silently for about half a minute. “Would sir be kind enough to enlighten me as to the exact nature of his complaint?” he asked. ‘Two can play at this game’ I thought. I snapped my fingers and held out my hand. The receptionist smirked. The manager reddened, then reluctantly handed me the offending bill. “With the basic room charge for four nights, I have no problem,” I told him. He blinked slowly and nodded slightly. “With the bar bill, I have no problem.” Blink and nod. “But with item three on the bill, cable television, I do have a problem. Neither my wife nor I have as much as turned on the television set since our arrival on Thursday.” “Be that as it may sir, but it was there if you wanted it.” I let that one go. “With item four, Saturday evening entertainment, I have a problem. My wife and I took a taxi into town to meet friends for a meal and a show on Saturday evening. We were not here to be entertained.” “Be that as it may sir, but it was there if you wanted it.” I was beginning to see where this conversation was going. “Item five, archery lessons?” “Yes sir, we have a qualified instructor who comes here each Sunday afternoon to give lessons. It was detailed in the brochure.” “My wife and I did not partake of any such instruction.” “Be that as it may sir, but it was there if you wanted it.” “Item six, trouser press. Let me guess; it was in our room and, even though we didn’t use it, it was there if we wanted it. Correct?” He merely blinked and nodded. “Item seven, fully equipped gymnasium, there if we wanted it?” Blink and nod. “Sauna, swimming pool, jacuzzi?” Blink and nod. “I see.” I shrugged my shoulders and reached into the inner pocket of my jacket for my chequebook. I wrote out the cheque, signed it with a flourish, and handed it to the manager. The beaming smile on his smarmy face, the smile that told the world that he had won, faded, then disappeared completely as he read the cheque. The bill had been for £850; the cheque I had handed to him was for £350. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “It’s quite simple,” I told him. “I’ve balanced your charges with a charge of my own.” “For what, may I ask?” he enquired. “For my wife,” I said. “For your wife?” he asked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” “I have charged you £500 for sleeping with my wife!” I told the man. “For sleeping with your wife?” he spluttered. “But I didn’t sleep with your wife!” “Be that as it may,” I told him, “but it was there if you wanted it.”
Posted on: Mon, 11 Aug 2014 00:25:12 +0000