Tragically, I have nothing to say.

This must mean it's time for Zany Client Stories, in which Lucy attempts to present an annoying experience as charmingly funny while mocking the people who make paying her rent possible. Actually, today's experience really was kind of funny, and I wouldn't have minded dealing with the client if only I'd had an hour on my hands to just dink around looking at hotels instead of trying to cope with the normal jam-packed workload.

The client phoned to get some help deciding on a hotel in Seattle during the last week of August, i.e., approximately a geological age from now in terms of deadlines. We hadn't done any business with her before. Keep in mind a hotel commission, while always welcome, isn't exactly big money to us. Still, no reason to turn away business. "No problem," I said chirpily, "I'm from Seattle. I'm sure I can find just what you need." Hotels are easy. I like hotel bookings.

"Excellent," she said in a soft, reasonable voice. "I want a luxury hotel with a view of the water. A good view, top floor, no buildings in the way. And also of the mountain. The water and the mountain. I don't want to see the city." Ooh. Bad news. Downtown Seattle was a city the last time I looked. I can do buildings plus mountain, or buildings plus water, but not both. Actually, if she wants just water I could manage that. Maybe the Edgewater Hotel would work as long as she doesn't want something top of the line. It's not a bad place, but unfortunately, it's not a luxury hotel, either.

"And it has to be right in the center of the downtown," she continued. "I want to walk out and go to Nordstrom's. I'm traveling alone, so it has to be safe." Bummer. The Edgewater definitely won't do. It's, you know, down at the water's edge, a bit of a hike from the shops, and the waterfront can get a bit dicey after dark. "Also, I need a room with a balcony or terrace so I can step out and get some fresh air." What? In a downtown hotel? I don't think so. Maybe the Inn at the Market, but then she won't have any kind of view.

"But if you can't find a balcony, I at least need the windows to open. I hate stuffy rooms." So do I, but I'll have to call every hotel to find out who has windows that open since that's not something anyone puts in a hotel description. Sure, they'll proudly inform you they have coffeemakers in every room, or that they are precisely 2.5 miles from the nearest tourist attraction, but no one mentions windows. "Yes, ma'am, I'm writing this down," I replied with perfect truth, glancing at the clock despairingly.

"Keep in mind I don't like small hotels. But I don't want a faceless chain hotel, either." Fine. You've just eliminated 9/10ths of the available hotel space. At least that will make choosing a property easier. "Oh, and can you make a photocopy of all the hotel descriptions and fax it to me immediately so I can decide which ones sound good? I don't have time to talk right now, so you'll have to get back to me on my answering machine. Please also find out when the seaplanes depart for Friday Harbor, what shows are playing in town that weekend, and see about reservations at Canlis." Oh, no. No way. The commission isn't going to be worth all the time she wants me to spend on this.

"I have two suggestions for you, ma'am," I said firmly, wanting to halt this before it goes any further. "I recommend either the Four Seasons or the Sorrento."

"But I want a list of hotels to review," she said with a hint of steel surfacing in that soft voice. "My other travel agent always lets me choose what hotels I want when I go to Hawaii. And I don't want to stay on the phone."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, you're not going to a resort area," I responded politely, noting she uses another agency for the big revenue booking, "and there aren't a lot of hotels to choose from with such specific requirements." I fantasize about telling her the only thing available is the Travelodge. "You can stay in a large luxury hotel like the Four Seasons, or you can stay at the Sorrento which is an exquisite smaller hotel in the Italianate style. Both of them have views, ideal location, and excellent concierges." And a concierge is what she needs because let's face it, while I'll bust my behind to get a regular client extras like restaurant reservations, seaplane schedules, and other intangibles which return zero profit to my company, there's no way I am doing this for someone who can't take the time to stay on the phone while I get her room rates.

"Oh," she says, momentarily stymied by someone declining to trot around doing a lot of unnecessary work. "Well. Those sound just fine. Can you have the hotels send me brochures?"

"Certainly. And I will find out which ones have windows that open, and ask whether by chance either of them feature rooms with views of both Mt. Rainier and the Sound, and if any of the rooms have balconies." I admit there was one bad moment where I wondered if the reason she wanted the best hotel in town with a top floor balcony was for, er, rather dark reasons. I'm just naturally suspicious, I guess. But I decided to take her requests at face value. She seemed satisfied, though if this woman books a hotel in Seattle I'll be very surprised. But just because one never knows, I made some calls to Seattle and got the lowdown on windows (Sorrento yes, Four Seasons no, just in case you ever want to make this choice).

Oh, look, sun's down. Time to post this and get down to some serious time-wasting. At nine o'clock there's an edition of VH-1's Behind the Music featuring my favorite musical humorist Weird Al Yankovic. My heliotropic brain cells can just about handle the intellectual challenge.

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