Breakfast with Boris
After a recent road trip, “The Random Vibes” is back. The trip seemed simple enough. My wife and I would find a nice little bed and breakfast and get away from it all for a few days. As you might imagine, New England is loaded with bed and breakfast options and they all sound great. Each one promises “elegant lodging” in historic areas and plenty of warm hospitality to go with a “full country breakfast.” We finally settled on an old Victorian inn with a reasonable price and made a reservation for two nights. The innkeeper promised to send a conformation email. The email was the first red flag. Although the check-in times were listed, there was no actual check-in process upon arrival. Instead we were instructed to pick up a “welcome note” that would have directions to our room. Directions? I couldn’t help but wonder how big was this house that directions were required? And more importantly would there be food and gas along the way?
After a pleasant drive through spectacular fall foliage - There’s nothing better than riding along a back road lined with brilliantly colored leaves secure in the knowledge that one needn’t rake a single one of them - we arrived at the Inn and parked in the rear as instructed. We made our way to the front door, which swung eerily open on its own accord.
With some trepidation we stepped into the house. The haunted door closed afterward and we could immediately see that the door wasn’t haunted at all for behind it stood an elderly man who for reasons that will become clear brought Boris Karloff to mind. The man said nothing and instead slowly raised his hand in the way I imagine Death himself might do so. He pointed to a board near the door, which contained several notes pinned to it. We took the note with our name on it as it seemed silly to take one with someone else’s name. Boris our host had yet to utter a word and having completed his task began to walk away. Before he could escape we introduced ourselves and extended our hands. This gesture or perhaps the sound of someone speaking aloud seemed to stun our new friend Boris. He managed to get through the introductions and the handshake (which was nowhere near as cold and clammy as I imagined it would be) and soon left us alone in the foyer.
We turned our attention to the “Welcome Note” which did indeed contain directions to our room. We were instructed to go up the stairs, then through the pantry, down the hall and finally through the bathroom to our room. Go through the bathroom? Surely this was an error. Whoever heard of having to through a bathroom to get to a room? Boris, that’s who. Sure enough there was a shared bathroom at the end of the hall. The bathroom had one door coming in from the hall and a second door, just past the shower, which led into our room. I had visions of being trapped in our room while the other guests showered, shaved, and well, you get the idea but as it turned out our room had another private entrance that led directly outside skipping both the bathroom and Boris.
The room itself was spacious enough with a bedroom upstairs in a loft, a full kitchen, and large living room area. And there were notes. Everywhere we looked, notes were taped to the wall. The notes seemingly covered everything. There were instructions about the fan, some thoughts on the windows, advice about toilet paper, and what we should do in the event of a nuclear attack. Okay I made the last one up. The point is there were a lot of notes.
The living room contained a gas fireplace which had been mentioned on the website. The fireplace looked nice. It looked like it could provide some warmth. If only we could turn it on…there were buttons to push and levers to turn but nothing seemed to work. Naturally there was a note to cover this subject too. According to the note, a thermostat controlled the fireplace. Tragically no amount of thermostat adjusting could induce the fireplace to turn on. We assumed we were doing something wrong and resolved to ask Boris about it when next we saw him. We also intended to ask about the room key, which was allegedly hanging near the door but in reality was nowhere in sight.
An hour later we were on our way back with supplies for dinner when we ran into Boris. First we asked him about the key. “It’s hanging right next to the door” he insisted in a most incredulous way. When we asked about turning on the fireplace, Boris shot us a look, threw his hands in the air and said, “That’s a new one on me!” as he walked away. I wanted to tell him that this kind of service was “a new one on me” but he was already gone.
So we made our way up the stairs, through the pantry, down the hall and through the fortuitously unoccupied bathroom. We searched high and low for the room key “right next to the door” but found nothing. Later by chance we finally came across the key hanging not near the door but on a desk that neither resembled a door or was anywhere near a door of any kind. Returning to the fireplace, we tried fiddling with any thermostat we could find but still the fireplace remained dark. Clearly it was time to give in. Eventually, while we were sipping wine and discussing Boris’s amazing people skills, the fireplace suddenly popped on with a whoosh. Moments later it just as suddenly whooshed off. This would continue for the remainder or our stay. The fireplace it seemed had a mind of its own and had no intention of being controlled by a thermostat.
The Inn was not without its good points. The room was clean, the breakfast was tolerable and in the event one forgot to bring a watch, the church across the street rang its bells every hour on the hour. Even at 2AM. You might wonder why I was awake at 2AM. Let’s just say that the Inn is located in a town of two thousand people every one of which apparently owns a car. How else to explain the almost constant traffic at all hours passing by the Inn?
The Inn is no stranger to celebrity either. The walls have numerous pictures of Boris posing with not one but two former presidents (neither of which I voted for). Also a now dead comedian apparently frequented the Inn (presumably when he was alive although one can’t be too sure). Our room in fact had a collection of the comedian’s movies on VHS available for our viewing pleasure. We passed. The comedian’s influence could be seen elsewhere in the Inn. There were pages and pages (several trees worth) of jokes apparently intended to brighten the day of the weary traveler. I’m still chuckling over, “If a mime is arrested, does he have the right to remain silent.” Or the classic: “Marriage is an institution where one person is always right and the other is a husband.” Funny stuff. I was about to toss the whole lot into our fireplace but at that moment it whooshed off.
After two nights, we whooshed ourselves off as well. I will admit that despite the lack of hospitality, we managed to have a good time although it is doubtful we’d stay there again. Beyond that the important thing remains “The Random Vibes” is back.
