Goofy, Yes. But Public? Why?

So we went to Magna cum Murder mystery festival, which was in Indianapolis for the first time, at the fancy-schmancy Columbia Club, a mostly Republican bastion, where I felt as out of place as a fish on a unicycle. Here I am arriving:Yeah, I’m lying. This was in a glass case on the balcony. It’s a porcelain piece made by Llandró of Spain.

Here’s a view from the balcony.Here’s anudder one.An’ anudder one.Here are the freakin’ elevators.The place was GAWgeous!

The festival room price was dead cheap, which made $25 a night parking a bit of a shock. Then I got home and checked my charge card, and found an extra charge of $45 and change.

WTF? I thought, which, of course, is short for What’s That For. (Hi, Mom.)

So I emailed the Club and asked. And the nice man asked for the room number and/or the name the reservation was under, and I told him. And he asked if the charge was billed separately or as part of the total. And, in grubbing around through my bits of paper, I found a receipt for a meal for two, which I charged and T repaid me her part of, and which I had forgotten to enter in my register.

Can somebody please tell me WHY I find my answers only AFTER I’ve attracted attention to the question? And why, in these cases, the problem is invariably that I’m goofy?

~deep, dramatic sigh~

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A character asks a question with an answer that reflects poorly on himself or herself.

MA