It's a sad state of affairs when a grown man cannot get out of bed to change the channels on the TV. Or turn it off. No. I need a remote control. Back in the day when we were lucky to receive two decent channels over the air, my parents had two remote controls. Me and my brother. One of us got up off the couch, walked across the room, and turned the clicking knob from 5 to 11 and back. Unbelievably, we survived those brutal times. While walking to school. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow.
Fast forward to several days ago, and I’m checking into my bed and breakfast. We're here for a professional conference, and by staying here, we save the company half the price of staying in the conference hotel. Our room charges also include WiFi and breakfast. This is easily a $1500 saving to the company, and I’m acutely aware of where our money comes from.
I unpack the grip, spread out, settle in, and reach to turn on the evening news. No remote. Maybe I moved it accidentally. Look all around. Nope. I walked up to the front desk to report my misery, and the attendant leaps from his desk, confirms my report, and scoots to fetch a replacement remote. My pain eases.
Now, some might say he was only doing his job, and that is true, but it's a weak description of the manner in which he accommodated my interruption to his day. He was hospitable, which is important to the road weary, and that gets a card.