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Previews by Thumbshots Link Details for:The Ritz Ditz
Link ID#168
Link URLhttp://www.ByronBlake.com
Submited ByByron Blake
Added OnMon_Jan_24__2005
Description:
The Ritz Ditz From my stereotypical point of youth the elderly multi-face lifted lady with the ill fitted blonde wig and pink picnic umbrella descends smiling down the stairs. She must have been a hot flame in the 1950s or maybe the 1940s. Maybe I imagined her once a likeable local burlesque stage show starlet whose notoriety fell pale to the eye shadow goddess Greta Garbo or Marilyn Monroe. Maybe she was an old English aristocrat or transvestite. Perhaps from watching her stature I assumed her to be some sort of grand Dame, maybe the original owner of this posh palace whom as any eccentric would, never leave. As the bell boy, I helped support her final stairway step. I sneezed from a mixture scent of old putrid perfume, mothballs and cat litter. At the same time I had a vision of her pancake white face dissolving into a dripping meltdown at any second. As this would happen to any ancient vampire and I could tell she would immediately turn to a powdered dust if this fossil ever encountered daylight again. I watch her reaching into her large shoulder bag and pulling out a miniature white poodle. She pulls on the lease nearly giving the dog a neck hanging before releasing to leap up and down on my leg. I try to push it towards her as she attempts to grab at it to make it behave and stay still. You can tell by the rapid wag of the tail and scampering hind legs this dog is apt to run away with any stranger given its first chance to do so. Her plump red lips squeeze kiss the dog so hard I fear her face has been glossed over so many times with thick layer make-up and botox injections cannot sense the dog is being smothered. The dog again lets loose this time running and barking at the long line at the guest checkout counter where upon seeing the dog run loose she screams and straddles the stairway banister and pulls down on my arm. I feel embarrassed to have all the guest’s attention focus on us. I’m trying to support her swaying weight as she leans back gloved hand rolling over her sweat streaked forehead. She cries out. “Oh my! Pity me. Pity me! What am I going to do? Oh, how I miss him. How much I miss my long ago dearest departed Harry!” The hotel help then looks the other way while many of the guests standing in line point to us and snicker. I hand her back to the rail before gently placing her rather titanic bootie on the carpeted stair step as I run to retrieve the long departed dog and heavily strap them both onto the baggage cart. I quickly ride them back to her room. I never saw her come out into the lobby ever again. Although I heard after my shift she created another incident where the night shift reported that high toned barking dog of hers managed to escape from her room prison a more than a few times before daylight. (c) ByronBlake.com

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