Trumped

“Where are the tickets Kurt?” shouted Mary from the kitchen.

“Under the…”

“Got ‘em.”

Mary, reached into the cabinet where cookie sheets cohabitated with pots and pans. Years ago Kurt began hiding important things in a single location close to his heart and within the grasp of his fleeting memory.

Two hours later Kurt and Mary stood in a luxurious hotel lobby with two friends and four overnight bags.

“Welcome to Trump Tower Mr. Lindwahl,” said the bellman. Should you require ANYTHING during your stay, please don’t hesitate to ask.” His emphasis on “anything” hinted at an endless list of possibilities. Tantalizing, or…

Well that’s creepy, Kurt thought, but said only,

“Anything?”

The bellman appeared utterly indifferent to Kurt’s ribbing as he handed Kurt a wood-grained plastic card.

“Your key, sir,”

Kurt turned to Mary with a devilish smile as he noticed the clerk’s nametag. Jethro.

“Kurt, don’t,” said Mary. She knew the smile all too well.

“We’ve got the bags,” said Kurt as he quickly walked toward the elevators.

As the doors slid closed in front of Jethro, Kurt faced the usual panel of round buttons along with some oblong ovals. Special floors with special functions that illuminated in white on stainless steel. Kurt pushed the oblong for fourteen, but the light immediately went off. He pushed again. Someone at the back of the car said,

“You have to swipe your room card, then push the button.” And after a brief pause, “I’m not sure why, but it’s pretty cool.”

“That’s it, I feel like Jed Clampett, Kurt chuckled, “Hold tight Elly May!”

The elevator ride was swift and amazingly smooth. Popping in their ears was the only indication they had actually moved, unlike the coal-mine ride at the museum that deliberately shakes and sways as it slowly descends 12 feet into a nearly “bottomless” shaft.

The Lindwahl’s room was beyond ostentatious. Slippers and robes, a yoga DVD and mat, Sharper Image dumbbells and heated aromatic eye pillows. Kurt stood in the bathroom pointing a remote control first at the shower, then at the toilet. No response. A darkened area in the mirror caught his eye. A TV came to life in the mirror’s glass.

“Mmm, dogies,” Kurt laughed. Who in the world felt that they deserved any of this?

Kurt picked up the room phone and called the front desk. Anything.

“Yes, can you tell me how to get to the Cement Pond?”

“Beg pardon sir?” It was Jethro.

“Swimmin’ pools, movie stars…” Mary rolled her eyes.

“The SPA is on the fifteenth floor sir.” That’s one floor up from fourteen.”

“Thanks, buddy!” Kurt said, then turned to Mary. “Let’s go work out.”

They arranged to meet their friends at the fifteenth floor spa in five minutes. Mary suggested they walk up.

“Ok,” Kurt said reluctantly as they entered the cavernous stairwell.

Forty-eight steps later they stood panting in front of a locked door.

“I wonder if we get cell service in here,” said Mary.

Kurt fished in his pockets, but pulled out only his car keys and a chapstick.

“Maybe it’s like the elevator,” Kurt said, waving his plastic keycard. A large red Rescue button hinted otherwise. He pushed the button and waited to be buzzed through.

Instead, 10 minutes later the door opened. There stood Jethro.

“Mister Trump would like to see you.”

Kurt imagined a meeting with “The Donald” to discuss their behavior.

“So, I build these fabulous freaking elevators and YOU decide to WALK? You’re fired!”

“Really?” asked Kurt.

“No sir. I’m just messing with you. Right this way,” said Jethro as he held the door open. “Enjoy the spa.”