The primary role of travel agents is to increase the entropy level of the universe.

Last week, I found that I needed to be in Boston for business-related reasons.  (As well as personal ones).  As this would enable me to expense my hotel stay for one night, I asked my travel agent to book me into a hotel room in downtown Boston for Thursday evening.

First mistake.

Little did I realize (having not noticed the date) that all of the approximately 1,000 colleges in the metro Boston area were having commencement exercises that weekend.  (I never quite understood the name of that ceremony - I always picture rows of students in black robes doing jumping jacks while the speaker counts off.)  Naturally, there were no hotel rooms in Boston.

Proof that travel agents are truly entropy agents:  when booking hotel rooms, they never look at a map.  I received a voicemail from my agent asking if I would prefer Worcester, Braintree, Plymouth, or Newton for my hotel room.

I'm going to go with Newton, Bob.

Second mistake.

I leave New York the Thursday in question, and only then do I realize that while I know I have a hotel room somewhere in Newton, I have no idea which hotel.  (I'm not even entirely sure that the entropy agent meant Newton, MA as opposed to Newton, CT or Newton, Isaac.)  I check my schedule.  Phew - Newton, MA.

Upon arriving in Boston and picking up my rental car (third mistake), I drive out to Newton, where I know I will find a Holiday Inn conveniently placed on Grove Street.  (I know this because it is directly across the street from Terry and Jeanette's apartment.)

I find my way to the lovely (if you're a cave dweller) Holiday Inn, located right next to the extremely scenic (if you're institutionalized) Riverside T stop.  I park in the garage and haul my bags to the (only moderately odiferous) elevator.  On my way, I notice a sign on the wall over the parking space right next to the hotel doors.  "Reserved for Guest of the Day".  You're kidding.

Having proven that this is NOT a business hotel, I proceed to check in.  I hand over my credit card, airline frequent flyer card, and other necessities of the road warrior life.  When it takes several minutes for them to find my reservation, I begin to get nervous - as we know, the other hotel option was in neighboring Braintree.  They search a little longer, then come up with my pre-registration card.  On it, in big letters highlighted in pink, is written:

"Guest of the Day".

I had been randomly chosen from all patrons checking in that day to be the Guest of the Day.  I would receive for this great honor the following things:
- a nice parking space right by the door from the garage to the hotel,
- a basket of fruit.

My joy could hardly be contained.  I almost spilled a little joy on my way to the almost-working elevator to get to my almost-bugfree room that looked out over the almost-blinding lights of the T stop.  It was all I could do not to cry.

Later that evening, as I prepared to venture on the grueling cross-street hike to Terry and Jeanette's place, I realized that I had the perfect token to bring to my friends.  A basket of fruit.  Unfortunately, the parking space was too big to carry.

And so the moral of the story is this:  even if the entropy agent can't find you a hotel room, she can find sustinence for you and your friends.  And don't park in the special parking space after midnight.

I do have one question, though - why are cookies considered fruit in Massachusetts?