Sunday, July 8, no sleep but it is the afternoon.

Denver Travel Blog

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I arrived at the hotel tired, dazed and confused. Sleep stayed away throughout the day. And so did the luggage. The hotel seemed nice; a pool, which I couldn't use until the suitcase arrived; a bar and restaraunt. The room was spacious, with a big TV opposite the bed, and a large window over looking the avenue. Opposite the hotel is a large, by any standards, supermarket and a sports store that sells anything and everything to do with sport. In between the road and hotel and the supermarket is a bar, a pleasant enough looking place, except for the cracked barrel of a shotgun in the flurescent sign announcing to the world that this is Willie's place. Later interogation of the hotel staff would reveal that this place was very welcoming to visitors, especially men, the local ladies are... very friendly. In my naivity I wondered if it was something similar to Hooters, a place that I have heard of before where the ladies are friendly and pleased to see you. A significant difference between the two American bars is the dress code for the staff. I hope this description is making the point; Willie's is a 'gentlemen's club.

Back to the pressing need of the moment; dilemma: do I buy clothes or don’t I buy clothes?

I called Virgin’s baggage claims line.

No human; their auto answer service claims that they are experiencing a high demand. So it is not just me that they are messing about with?

I called my insurance company.

No answer.

I call Vrigin, although I did feel sorry for the next person that I was to talk to. I was tired, smelling and very annoyed with customer service and desperate to take it out on someone. I find it strange that a dedicated telephone service to handle complaints has the gaul to innappropriately repeat every two minutes a sales pitch telling me how valuable I am as a customer and how I could make use of Virgin's facilities. Frankly, I couldn't care less about any of these things being thrust down my ear. I wanted to talk to someone, someone who would listen to my problem and then provide assurance that there was a solution. I waited.  A response. Ah; disappointment struck as I realised that Virgin were another company to off-shore their customer care to an Asian land taking advantage of the ability to provide cheap service. The assistant could provide no help; I should call back later.

I did: after being on hold for (what at least felt like) ages, I spoke to a human. They confirmed that the bag would arrive in Newark Sunday night at 23.30. Hurray. An answer. Doing the maths in my head, I worked out that the case must still be in the UK. I was gutted; but at least I had an answer.

I could recieve my luggage by mid Monday morning, get dressed out of my stale and slightly rigid clothing that had been on me since Saturday morning (UK time) and then go to the conference smelling sweet and dressed appropriately.

The immediate future was not looking too good; the battery on my phone rarely lasts two days and the laptop had told me that it only had 30 minutes of power left. Both power supplies were in the suit case, hopefully travelling at 545 miles an hour across the world to meet me. The supermarket over the road called me; I took the opportunity to buy some pants (in the English sense), just in case, a t-shirt and food, and, having enjoyed two untoasted frosted strawberry Poptarts, I fell asleep quickly and at some unknown time.

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photo by: crystalware