THE SEARCH FOR MR. ADEQUATE
Part 48

By Susan Silver

I am not merely adequate … (she said modestly.) So why should I not set my sights higher in a mate? In fact, in every aspect of my life?

We don’t want “adequate” in meals, or hotels, or movies, do we? We … ok ok, I am using the ‘royal we’ … we have no patience for only ‘adequate’ service. We definitely would not accept ‘adequate’ in plastic surgery … (if we were to have it, someday down the road, but not in the near future, honest, not that there is anything wrong with it.)

So...I am now setting my sights higher! And to facilitate this, I have decided that we should have a scale of adequacy … for anything that lends itself to comparative measurement! And I have anointed myself as the arbiter of such a scale. (Along the way, Dear Reader, you too will be invited to contribute.)

Thus, in future columns we will develop and use … drum roll please … THE ADEQUACY SCALE.

Let’s begin with my vacation, shall we? And we will be brutal!!

“Well this is Beverly Hills, after all!”

So spoke the condescending Concierge at the Beverly Hilton … not even one of the posher BH hotels. Yes, Dorothy … we were not in Kansas anymore.
I was stopping in Los Angeles for a few days on the way to Maui and got a nice deal at the Beverly Hilton, formerly owned by Merv Griffin and now some large corporation, I think. It is the home of Trader Vic’s and perfectly located in walking distance to Bev Hills, so I decided to chance it for two days, having never stayed there before.

My room was — pick from the following: bottom of the barrel, less than adequate, adequate, more than adequate, The One! The answer was “adequate.” But don’t forget I got a really cheap deal from Expedia, so it met expectations and that was good enough. Although, and this is why it was merely adequate … it was near the room where room service trays go to rest … thus at 4:30 a.m. there was a lot of clanging. And so, Dear Reader, we learn what? To request not being near service rooms, ice machines etc. Ok, lesson learned.( Remember this, it will come up again.)

The good part was the walking distance to Rodeo Drive et al. And, the temperature was in the 60s, and it was sunny, so I spent half a day strolling along the shops. The weird part is that this was the first time I’d ever been there without renting a car, and as you no doubt know, no one walks in BH. Thus they have no cross streets that go directly from the Hotel to the “town.” I’m serious.

I had to walk some zigzag route to get to the other side of the road...and like the proverbial chicken, it wasn’t easy. First of all, people stare at you from their cars as you walk along. Some with sympathy, some with disdain...or perhaps I imagine it. Then, the lights are programmed for traffic, which takes forever, so I, being a practiced walker from NY, jaywalked. However, you get a ticket when you do that in LA. Who knew? Ok ok, lesson learned.

T’was the day before Xmas and the stores were filled with tourists, mostly from Asia and they were snapping up some good sales at Gucci, Hermes etc.
I merely looked, having spent my allowance for the year. I saw a few stars like The Great One … no no no. Not Jackie Gleason. He is dead. This, sports fans will know, was Wayne Gretzky who looked really good. He was with his wife, a former actress who was really cute and now sad to say looks like she’s been in the sun too much, or had something less than adequate done.

On the night before Xmas a friend and I went to dinner and saw ‘Syriana,’ the new George Clooney movie. Sorry to say, and really sorry since you know I love George and am dying to meet him, the movie was only Adequate. Though I praise the fact that an intelligent and to my mind, politically truthful movie was made, it was unnecessarily convoluted and we had headaches by the end, not a good sign for a viewer response.

On Xmas day, I lay in the sun at the pool, which was a treat as I needed my Vitamin D and to get a basecoat for the stronger rays in Maui.

Then, I had an inexplicable craving for deli. Since Nate and Al’s was walking distance, I set off. Talk about spooky! I was almost the only person in the town. No one was even driving by. I walked past every restaurant and not one was open! Where are people of other religions eating? You guessed it. Nate and Al’s. There was a wait of one and a half hours! I of course do not wait in lines, even for a whitefish sandwich, so I took out. That was a twenty minute wait and by now I was going into hypoglycemic shock! So I thought I’d find a bench or something to sit on and eat.

No such luck. In BH you don’t walk and you don’t sit. The only place was the Museum of TV and Radio building, which has a lovely little pool and ledge donated by my friend Garry Marshall. I thought, since I am his friend, it would be ok. Then, I had an image … of someone from my past life driving by and saying, “how the mighty have fallen.” “There she was, the famous TV writer, alone on Xmas eating out of a paper bag, probably homeless, revisiting her place of former glory.” I waited till I got back to the room! The sandwich was more than adequate, but lacked tomato and lettuce.

That night, my friend the Drill Sergeant (Column 12) had her family over for dinner and I was invited. She, as you know is perfection in everything she does. (She is off the chart on my scale, as there is no rating that high.)
When I got there an hour early to help, everything was already done and she was going to shower. She offered me magazines, drinks … she would make a very good hotelier … and I waited for everyone to arrive. When her two grown up kids showed, one with husband, we had a lot to talk about, which again makes me worry about my mental age. We all watch the same reality shows and were discussing obscure and ridiculous characters that my friend and her ex-husband, who is an actor, had never heard of. The kids thought I was “fun” which I can only interpret to mean really immature, but I’ll take it.

After listening to the DS talk about how all of her clients send her too many baskets of sweets for the holiday and how unimaginative it is, I produced my gift, a panetone for dessert. I don’t want to say she is intimidating, but one of the gifts given to her, and which she was thrilled to get was Strunk’s Elements of Style, updated. Yes, she is a grammar maven too. (And has commented to me about the grammar in this column which I blame on the Editors of course.)

So, now back to that bitchy concierge … and you thought I’d forgotten. NEVER!! Let’s call her ‘Ethel’, you are now on my list!! I went to the desk the morning I checked out to inquire about a car vs. a cab the airport. She was talking to a friend on the phone and barely looked up. I cleared my throat and finally she did. She informed me that the car was $115 without tip. Since my car service in NY is only $68 and it’s a hell of a lot longer trip, I reacted.

“ Well,” she snarled … ok, maybe I imagined that … ”a cab is only $40 if you prefer.” (‘You poor slob’ she implied and I did not imagine that!!)

I said, but still … that seems like a lot and quoted the NY price.

“We ARE in Beverly Hills,” said Ethel, her bright blue eye shadow wrinkling in disregard.

Well as Steve Martin used to say … “excusssssse me!”

I went up to the room, tail between my legs, so to speak. Then I came to my senses. I went back down with a notepad and pencil.

Ethel squinted in dismay. Oh oh.

I said politely … .hahahaha … ”I just want to get these numbers right for my article. How much was the car service? And how much would it be if I called say, Dave-El myself?” Having lived there for years and used car services I knew one name to drop!

“Well”, said Ethel, in a much more conciliatory tone, “things are so different in different cities. Aren’t they? I mean the rents in New York are so expensive. And you know people here like their limos.”

“Yes, they seem to,” said I, “but I was just asking for a sedan.” She shrugged.

I got into the cab.

“Gone with the Wind”

As G-d is my witness, I’ll never fly coach again!!

I always upgrade to Business Class, using my miles when I can, but to Maui I decided to be frugal and go coach since I didn’t have any miles on this airline. Mistake!!!

And it’s not a snob thing. Going First Class … now that is a snob thing. I’ve never understood the need … unless someone else pays, like the Studios used to. It’s really the same seats as Business, and perhaps a little better food, but unless you are a star and don’t want to be bothered, I think it’s a waste of money I’d rather be spending on shopping.

Anyway, if going coach, you have to go through several humongous lines at LAX. I’m talking twenty-five minutes for the security! And then you finally schlep on, passing the smug first classers and the more sympathetic business class and get to your teensy seat. I had an aisle and wonder of wonders there was one empty seat between me and the elderly man in the other aisles. This had potential. Always thinking ahead, I went to the Stewardess oh yeah, Flight Attendant, sorry … and asked if anyone were using the two seats at the emergency exit. They were empty and she said grudgingly that if I wanted to I could move...once the doors shut.

They did and I did. Then it dawned on me that the little seat divider did not move in the exit row so there would be no lying down. I wrestled around trying to find a comfy position to sleep though the foot room was nice and then I had a brilliant idea! Or so it seemed.

I walked back to the guy in my original row and he was sitting trying to cross his leg in the middle of the three seats. Would he like to switch with me and have the leg room and I could lie down as he seemed to not want to do so. He said no, the bastard. But he got his … on the way back he was wedged in between two fat people in the last row of the plane.

But anyway, I struggled for five hours but couldn’t sleep and twisted myself into pretzel like positions which resulted in … well read next week!
The Ouwee in Maui!!

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