Posted on 06/02/2002 8:10:42 AM PDT by Luis Gonzalez
So we went to New York City for some urban excitement, which began when we saw our hotel. To avoid hurt feelings, I will call it by a made-up name, ''The Hotel Shpennsylvania.'' It's in midtown Shmanhattan, across the street from Shmadison Square Garden. The Hotel Shpennsylvania was apparently built around the time that North America became a separate continent. I am told that, at one time, it was quite elegant. Of course, I am also told that, at one time, Elizabeth Taylor was a virgin. Our first whiff of the Hotel Shpennsylvania experience came when we entered the lobby, which is furnished in a functional yet practical style, consisting of: a floor. There is more seating provided on the lunar surface than in the lobby of the Hotel Shpennsylvania. This leaves plenty of room to stand, which is what we did for quite a while, in a check-in line approximately the length of the Great Wall of China, but not moving as fast. If you have a loved one who mysteriously disappeared years ago and has not been heard from since, you should consider the possibility that this person is simply attempting to check in to the Hotel Shpennsylvania. The good news was, we finally got a room. The bad news was, it was room 436. If you ever get a chance to stay in this room, I advise you to say: ''Thanks, but I'd prefer a Dumpster, if there's one available.'' I say this because room 436 is a very Spartan. I use the word ''Spartan'' not only in the sense of ''austere,'' but also in the sense of ``last renovated in 500 B.C.'' The walls, ceiling and floor appeared to be made of compressed grime; you got the feeling that if you took a damp cloth and started wiping the walls, you would wipe a hole right into the next room. These walls had no decoration of any kind, unless you count stains. One of the window shades had fallen down, revealing a sweeping panoramic view of: a wall. There were no chairs. There were two sad old beds with mattresses that felt like they were stuffed with dead squid, and a battered desk with a sign on it informing us -- I am not making this up -- that new furniture had been ordered for the room, but it had not arrived yet. This sign appeared to be several years old. When you turned on the bathtub taps, what came out looked like some kind of weak soup. Maybe this was a hotel selling point (``All Rooms With Hot and Cold Running Broth!''). Of course we should have marched down to the desk and demanded a new room, or even checked out. But we did not, for two solid reasons: (1) We didn't want to wait in the lobby line again, and (2) We are shmorons. So instead we went out for the evening. Then, like characters in a bad horror movie who, against all common sense, go down into the dark basement, we returned to room 436. We enjoyed a restful night until about 1 a.m., when the couple next door returned to their room. This couple was really hitting it off, if you know what I mean. I did not realize that it was physically possible for humans to hit it off that many times in one night. We could hear them clearly, because compressed grime does not block sound well, and they were hitting it off with intensity, passion, and what sounded like at least four head of cattle. During those brief periods when the couple was resting, smoking cigarettes, watering the livestock, etc., we would listen to the people in the room on the other side, who apparently were in town for the International Convention of Loud Talkers With Insomnia. They were having a fine time, the kind of time when everything is so hilarious that everybody must repeat it at least four times. A distinct aroma drifting through the grime made us wonder if they were using shmarijuana, but of course that would be illegal, even in New York. Whatever it was, it quieted them down for brief periods, during which the couple on the other side would rouse the steers again. Before we knew it, it was dawn. Other than that, we had a fine time in New York, a truly great city with some of the world's best museums, theaters, restaurants and shopping. Some day we will go back and actually see these things. On this trip, we mainly napped. When we do go back, we won't stay at the Hotel Shpennsylvania. We'll stay somewhere farther from the ''heart of the action.'' Such as Shmontana.
During the 1930s and later, it was common for telephone prefix numbers to use the first two letters of a name. The song title was the telephone number of the Hotel Pennsylvania , at 7th and 33rd in New York City, which served as Glenn Miller's home base during his many month tenure at the hotel's Cafe Rouge beginning January 1940. The hotel was built by the Pennsylvania Railroad, across the street, to go with the Pennsylvania Station ("You leave the Pennsylvania Station 'bout a quarter to four..." from "Chattanooga Choo-Choo"). In recent years, the hotel was the Statler Hilton but has re-emerged, once again, as the Hotel Pennsylvania. Through all the years, the phone number has remained the same -- 736-5000 or PE 6-5000.
Guy at work used to work for the FCC regulating Ma Bell until the break up. He explained that under the law, Ma Bell could realize a fixed profit rate on capital, including home installed handsets. Repair calls were charged against operating expenses, on which profits were subject to FCC review to determine whether or not costs were justified, prudent and necessary. And repair calls resulted in a dissatified customer who would clamor for more laws unfavorable to AT&T. So from the phone company's POV the logistics trade (repair v. initial cost) was a no brainer.
When my father-in-law gave up his house a few years ago we found out he was still renting his phones from AT&T! (About 50¢ a month, not a bad ROI for ~$10.00 twenty+ years ago.) - Over the years we've bought him at least two phones - I called up AT&T to return their equipment. I had to drive 20 miles to an office that did FEDEX, mail drops and had a couple of dumpsters filled with phones. They took back the touch-tone phones, and made me fill out some forms. They weren't interested in the rotary-dial "Black Beauty" sitting on the desk next to me. Makes a real authentic telephone ring, the dial works, has a ringer equivalence of 1.0 and serves as a contingency cudgel.
So from the phone company's POV the logistics trade (repair v. initial cost) was a no brainer.
Smart move.
Side note: The computer processing power that cost a million dollars twenty years ago costs less than $500 today. Had the government regulated the computer industry as they have virtually every other industry it would probably cost well over a thousand dollars if not two, three or five thousand.
They weren't interested in the rotary-dial "Black Beauty"
If it's the one I'm thinking of, my grandmother had one of those.
and serves as a contingency cudgel.
LOL!!!
I member dropping the handset on my big toe and nearly broke it -- my toe that its.
I've never been a collector, but have thought that if I did, I'd collect phones from different eras.
I do business with this joint, it's not a fleebag, but well on its way.
An elderly gentleman checked in and paid for a three-day stay with his credit card, he didn't check out on his scheduled date. The asst. manager went to check on the room, and saw that there was a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, and through a crack in those heavy hotel drapes, he could see the guy sleeping in bed, so he left.
Three days later, they finally opened the door, and you guessed it, the old guy had been dead for days. The air conditioning was blasting and there was no bad odor yet.
The hotel contacted the cops, who took the body away. I was sitting with the manager the day after (I had already been told the story) when the asst. manager called him to inquire how post the loss of revenue for the three days that the guy was dead in the room. The manager yelled at him, and told him that there was no loss, just to charge the guy's credit card for the extra days he occupied the room.
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