Detroit: Breakfast at the Holiday Inn

The buffet table in the hallway was filled with steam pans of scrambled eggs, sausage, and breakfast potatoes. There was also a big bowl of fruit and a plate filled with Danish pastry that looked inviting.  I rarely manage to make it to any of the complimentary breakfasts offered by hotels, not because I don’t get up early enough but because I usually wake up and start writing and/or looking for jobs. I’m also usually dressed in something not suitable for public viewing, like oversized sweat pants and a wrinkled hoodie.

Anyway, yesterday morning I had a dental appointment so I set aside my morning routine, took a handful of Motrin, put on some passable clothes, and attempted to cash in my free breakfast coupon. No one was around except for some missionary kids in the halls, many whom were wearing oversized crosses, or t-shirts letting other people know that they were WARRIORS FOR CHRIST. I assume the kids arrived in the old white buses that line the parking lot, which advertised the name of a Baptist church in faded brown paint.  Most of the warriors were cute, fresh-faced teens. I wondered how many of them sincerely feel called to duty and how many might be like one of my friends, who joined a Christian music group at 16 just so she could escape her parents for awhile.

I took a plate from the table and chose my morning fare – a spoonful of eggs, some potatoes, and a pear. Suddenly, two men dressed in black appeared. The older one, “Nico” according to his name badge, started exclaiming to me in a foreign accent that, “This is not breakfast! This is not the breakfast!”  Confused, I looked at my plate and then back at him.

“No!” he repeated, “This is not breakfast!”
I stared back dumbly.
“Your breakfast is not here!”
“Um, I don’t understand?”
“Not yours! Yours is over there.”

Nico pointed to the bar, and I began to understand that I may have just hustled into a buffet meant for the missionary kids.

“Well, okay,” I said. “What do want me to do?”

Nico paused for a moment, as if he were deciding whether to call the cops.“You have to eat here,” he finally said, “not there.”

I looked around here, which was nothing but a hallway. All the chairs in the lobby were filled with kids, none of whom were eating. There was no place to sit, and it was becoming clear to me that I couldn’t take the plate back up to my room.

“I don’t understand.”

Nico sighed with exasperation. “This. Is. NOT. The. Breakfast!”

We were getting nowhere fast, so I walked to the garbage can and emptied my plate. Nico shouted at me then. “No, no! You don’t have to waste!” But the breakfast was already gone, and my sense of embarrassment had stalled my appetite anyway.

I made my way to the elevator where a group of missionary kids were exiting. They were giggling and full of good cheer. “God bless you!” said one spunky girl in a bright pink and silver glitter top. At that moment, I envied her youth and her perfect rows of straight white teeth. My own teeth were throbbing. I knew the dentist wasn’t going to have good news for me, and that bad news was going to cost more than I could afford. Dentists cost more than God.

Oh well, at least there’s free breakfast. Somewhere. Just not here.

Tagged as: Breakfast, Dentists, Detroit, Holiday Inn