Recollections: My Dad and Europe

My Dad likes to bring up his time in Europe as a bachelor, so I thought I'd throw in a few of his stories.

My father first was sent to Europe as part of a business trip. The purpose of the trip is not important, but the company's policy on allowances at the hotel in Europe is quite pertinent. My father grew up slaughtering pigs in his backyard (with his eldest sister) so that they could take the pork to the butcher's shop and make money. It's important to understand that, when you give a man like my father (or like myself, for that matter) free reign with amenities at a hotel, there will be usage of that allowance, possibly significantly more than expected from the average individual guest. He said that, when he was in line to pay the bill, he was watching the clerk behind the desk tick off everyone else's receipt of room orders, and the clerk saw --Whiskey, cognac-- and ticked it off. Then there was --Whiskey, massage, steak-- and that was also ticked off. Then the clerk got to --Steak, cognac, cognac-- and ticked that off. This was not my father's bill. These were three separate bills from other guests who were at the hotel on business. My father handed his bill and, after the clerk was done unfolding the thing, it read something like ---Whiskey, massage, steak, cognac, cognac, whiskey, steak, cognac, massage, cognac, massage, cognac, steak, cognac, cognac, massage, cognac --- and my Dad asked if anything was wrong and the clerk quickly and abruptly replied "No no!" and ticked it off and cast it aside like so much added value.

My father then toured Europe after his company-bought stay at the hotel had ended, and he lived in youth hostels for something like 15 Swiss Francs a night, breakfast included (and then he stuffed the bread rolls and butter from the breakfast table into his pack and took the bus everywhere). He recalls one night where he got to the hostel gate at 12:10 am which, apparently, was the highest of crimes since the youth hostel gate was locked (from the inside and the outside) at midnight. His best option at the time was to sleep on the pavement outside the gate until it opened. Then another man came by shortly after my father and began to complain seemingly incessantly about why the gate was locked. My Dad was then told that the man had been living there for weeks now, and was becoming very irritated with the hostel's curfew. After banging repeatedly on the gate, the man climbed over the wall (because he was Spiderman) and then he talked to the guard. After a brief negotiation, the guard came to the gate and said that both my father had to pay 10 francs for "returning late". That probably wasn't in the room agreement.