(Horror stories about the rainforest.)
“Balloon!” Janie shouted, pointing out the window.
Angie and I ignored her. We were arguing with Adrián, the hotel owner.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see your reservation here,” he repeated.
“Typical,” I muttered. “God damn typical.”
I’d spent a year getting this vacation planned out. Angie’s wanted to go to Costa Rica since she was a little girl and saw a documentary about the rainforest. It was our third anniversary. I was hoping it would be a special trip. The start was inauspicious.
“Balloon!” Janie yelled again, giggling and tugging my pant leg. I glanced over my shoulder through the picture windows overlooking the forest below.
“There’s no balloons, sweetheart,” I informed her, and turned back to the hotel owner.
“Look, I have the online confirmation right here. That’s the name of the hotel, yes? And that’s the address? And there, where it says ‘confirmed?’ Can that possibly mean anything else?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re just not in our system. If you and your family would like to go out on the patio and rest for a little while, I will see what I can do. I’ll send over a couple glasses of wine and some fruit juice for your beautiful little girl, okay? Just give me a little time.” Continue reading “The Black Balloons”