A pair of star-crossed lovers take their chances at a hotel downtown.
After nearly a month of long-distance, Wanda F. Uck was excited to spend a steamy weekend with her partner, Al Sohorny, who had flown into New York the morning of Valentine’s Day. However, upon entering 616, hand-in-hand with her lover, she came to a terrible realization: she hadn’t completed the twelve-step Barnard guest registration process that required a vial of her partner’s blood, a lock of their hair, and three forms of valid ID.
“I forgot to pre-register my partner,” Wanda told the man at the front desk. “Could you overlook that just for tonight?”
The man made a strange gesture with his hand near his mouth. Al’s eyes narrowed: “Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?”
“I do bite my thumb. A plague o’ both your houses!”
Wanda grabbed Al’s hand, and the man eyed the couple suspiciously as they quickly did a 180 out of the building. Both regularly and sexually frustrated, Wanda struggled to think of a solution to her predicament. Maybe Al could scale the side of Shake Shack and climb through her window? Or perhaps she could find a giant box for them to climb into and pretend she got a human-sized Depop delivery? She flew through ideas, but none of them seemed right. Dejected, the couple walked aimlessly downtown.
The sky was nearly purple as Wanda and Al passed the Empire State Building. Suddenly, Al looked forward and spoke up. “But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Hilton Garden Inn on 33rd Street is the sun.”
They quickly paid for a room, and within minutes, were bundled in fluffy white robes. Stomach grumbling, Wanda sighed wistfully: “O room service, room service, wherefore art thou room service?” Luckily, the meal came quickly, and Wanda and Al were, at last, free to enjoy each other’s company.
For never was a story of less foreplay
Than this of Wanda and her bae.
