Checking out of a hotel in North Carolina, I see a man standing at the counter with a business associate of his. This is the conversation:
“What is this?” says the man in the dark suit, looking over his friend’s shoulder.
“I watched a movie,” says the light-suited associate who is checking out.
“Regular movies are $8. That’s $11,” says the dark suit man.
“What?” says light suit man. He turns to the clerk, a small, very Southern older woman. “Why is this movie $11?”
Before she can answer, his friend starts laughing. “You watched porn!” says his friend loudly. Another woman in the lobby shakes her head and walks away.
“Hey, I watched a movie.” says light suit in a high-pitched voice. “Doesn’t say what it was on here.”
“You watched porn! ” continues the dark-suited man loudly. The clerk looks at them, expressionless. Dark suit smacks the bill with his hand. “This isn’t ‘Syriana’ here. This is ‘Skanky Bimbos From Hell’ or something, pal. Regular movies are $8. Porn is $11. You watched porn! On the company dime, too! Man!”
Light suit is flustered. His brow furrows and he slides the bill across the counter to the clerk.
“Look, I didn’t watch porn,” he says, shaking his head and handing the clerk his credit card.
The little old Southern lady behind the counter looks sternly over her glasses directly into his face and leans in as she takes his card with hesitation, holding it gingerly, pinched between two fingers. She looks just like the woman who plays piano at church.
“The name of the movie is not on the bills.” She uses his credit card to point at the $11 charge. “I don’t know what you watched here.” She rubs the card across the number with a righteous scratch. But I know one thing.” She taps his credit card on the amount of the movie. ” $11 is a naaasty movie.”
She drags the word “naaasty” out to bring her disgust home. She drops the bill on the counter like it’s a dirty Kleenex that the guy just blew his nose on. Silence hangs in the hotel lobby air. Dark suit man walks away laughing to himself. Light suit man wants to disappear. I slide my plastic hotel key card across the counter toward the clerk, who is busy doing whatever clerks do behind counters in hotel lobbies. Light suit man looks at me, his eyes filled with pleading.
“I didn’t watch porn,” he says tersely.
I just nod and walk toward the door. Two other business associates have joined dark suit and they look at light suit alone at the counter in his shame. Dark suit spreads the story.
“Wait until accounting sees that Jim watched a bunch of naaasty movies last night.”
A bald man who looks like Larry David quickly jerks his bill up and looks at it. “The $11 ones?”