2 chubby women, one blonde in a pink sweatshirt, the other brunette with a red hoodie, and their cute, bespectacled 16 year-old daughter (2 mommies?) stop at the desk to ask me, a burly Amishish man, and my colleague Yusuf, a 40 year-old Guinean man, where exactly the Victoria's Secret they walked by today is?
The brunette in red is pouring some powder into her small Poland Spring bottle. "Coffee?," Yusuf wonders.
"Grape mix!" she responds enthusiastically.
I start to try to look up the locations of Victoria Secret's on the computer. "Its on the corner," the girl calls out hopefully. I wait for her to elaborate, but that's all she says. It's on the corner.
I'm thinking this is probably the dumbest thing anyone has said during my tenure at the Hotel Idiotica, but I'm willing to write it off since she's just a kid. The one of her mommies starts chiming in.
"Yeah, it was on a corner. Not on one of those side streets." Oh. Hmm, let's see, ma'am. Well I know it's not on the corner of 112th and Broadway. I'm not sure about 49th and Lexington, or any of the other 3,147 street corners in Manhattan.
I try Google Maps, Victoria Secret, 10036, the hotel's zipcode. A number of options come up. "Put the American Eagles on there," pink woman hollers. "There was an American Eagle close by." Her companion just stands there, slurping her grape-ade.
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Is that the one next to that stand that sells magazines and cigarettes? You know that stand?
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