OK. I feel better now. I helped the poor Londoner out. (See how loopy I was? Couldn't even distinguish a Londoner accent from an Australian accent.) Helping a person in need feels nice, but when perspective spice is added it's particularly satisfying.
He told me that he's been traveling for 22 hours. He left India to meet his folks at a posh hotel in Boston. He arrived into JFK for a transfer and got stuck in Immigration ... for 4 hours. He missed his flight and somewhere in between he lost the hotel information. Plus, he has no way of getting a hold of his parents.
Since he said it was a posh hotel and an internet search wasn't ringing a bell, I suggested he call the Ritz and ask if they could be of assistance. He knew the first couple of letters (oddly that didn't help the internet search) and he was able to describe the decor of the place.
OK. The coffee craving passed. Now I want a beer. Layovers are stupid.
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