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This is embarrassing.
2
Donovan
The Day I Got Yelled At
This is hilarious, I thought while the girl went off on me.She’s pissed about something.
I listened to her and answered her interrogation with honest answers, yet it didn’t appease her.
“I’ve been pacing back and forth,” she went on. “I even made eye-contact with you earlier, but you didn’t come up to me.”
Wait a minute. Was she upset that I didn’t hit on her? This woman expected me to walk up and flirt with her just because we made eye-contact?
I knew girls like this. Girls who expected to getwhateverthey wanted by showing a little bit of cleavage and smiling at whoever was in their way. And when theydidn’tget their way, they pouted or threw a temper tantrum.
Don’t get me wrong. She was a sexy little thing. An oval face, silky black hair, and as many curves underneath her sun dress as a Roman aqueduct. But I had better things to do with my last few hours in Rome before I flew home.
She stood there, waiting for some sort of answer with her hands on her hips. I didn’t know what else to do except defend myself by telling her she didn’t come up to me either.
It was the truth, but it seemed to infuriate her. She let out a sound like an annoyed cat, which made me chuckle.
Which was thewrongresponse to give this girl.
She aimed a pink fingernail at my face and said, “Listen. I didn’t fly around the world just to get laughed at by a cut-rate tour guide.”
I blinked. “Tour guide?” Suddenly it started to make a little more sense. She thought I was someone else. Probably the same tour I was waiting for.
I tried to quickly explain the misunderstanding, but she kept going off on me. All I could do was sit there and suffer her tirade while trying not to set her off by smiling again.
Theactualtour guide picked that moment to come through the lobby doors and tap her on the shoulder. He spoke to her, calling her Miss Carter, but I was barely listening because I was trying to hold my laughter in.
She turned back to me, her plump lips parted slightly with an embarrassed look on her face.
“Do you yell at every guy minding their own business in the hotel lobby?” I asked.
“Only you,” she said curtly. Then, without another word, she stormed away from us and disappeared into the elevator.
The tour guide sighed, then turned to me. “Buongiorno, Mr. Russo?”
I stood and held up the tour pamphlet. “That’s me. Did you say the tour has been canceled?”
He gave me a sad smile. “I am afraid so. Everything in the city is closing early today, by order of the mayor. Of course you will be given a full refund, or a chance to rebook with us at a later date.”
“Today’s my last day in Rome, so I’ll take the refund.” I glanced at my watch. “Is it that serious? The virus, or whatever?”
“It appears so. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, sir…”
I shrugged. “Not your fault.”
After he left, I made a phone call to the airline. There was a long hold line, but then I got through to a customer service representative. My flight was delayed until further notice.
Well, shit.
Not only that, but it looked like all flights were being grounded. The Italian Prime Minister was speaking that evening, and everyone expected him to announce a full lockdown. It was gettingbad.
I’d heard stories about the virus. It had made its way across Asia and was springing up in Northern Italy. I’d been too busy in the last week to pay much attention to it, though. I assumed it would blow over, like SARS or the bird flu or all the other scares over the past decade. But if flights were being grounded…
