I am sorry to inform you that I will not be able to accompany you to New Brunswick. Please accept my letter of resignation. And I do mean resignation, as in admission of defeat.
I hereby give up my valiant attempts to get you to keep your failures quiet, since you are obviously hellbent on sharing every last tiny setback with the entire world, via this blog.
You may think it a bit suspicious that I am quitting tonight; the night when the bar located approximately 6 feet from your hotel room window has suddenly exploded into action, but that is just a coincidence. I am not at all fazed by the frat boys who are yelling obscenities and making terrible grunting noises as they practically dive off the bar’s patio into your window, which must remain open due to the stifling heat produced by this broke-ass “heritage hotel” heater. Nor am I in the least bothered by the hammered sorority girls wearing early (and remarkably slutty) Halloween costumes and screaming at the top of their lungs as they stagger blindly into the alley between your hotel and the bar so they can throw up cheap draft beer and the date rape drugs the festering sore frat boys have tried to slip into their drinks. No, those things do not bother me. This sort of thing is nothing for an experienced tour handler, such as myself. If I wasn’t quitting, I might be able to help you out with this situation.
But alas, our journey together has come to an end. I don’t think you can be effectively handled and I’m going to send the agency a note to that effect. I’ll probably do that in the morning. After I have a good night’s sleep in my own bed. Whoa! There goes another diving frat boy. That one nearly made it in! Thank goodness he lost his grip on your windowsill and plunged down two floors onto the heads of a pair of retching faux-ho sorority girls. That was close!
Okay, well bon voyagey, as Bugs Bunny says. Maybe I’ll see you at the gym. I’ll be the one in the leather-look tights and pointy bustier.
Yours with very little regret,