Hello, front desk? Yeah, I’m back. Listen, someone took half the room service menu, so I only have the breakfast and booze sections. And while those *are* two of my favs, you’re no longer serving breakfast. And drinking alone in my room is a recipe for disaster. Seriously, I tend to drunk dial my wife – which is lame enough as it is. I mean, married drunk dialing? Gross. But then I try to disguise my voice, which is stupid because caller ID has been a thing since the 90s. And it just goes downhill from there. So what I really want is to order some food. Though truth be told, I’m more bored than hungry. So I need you to read me your late night dining options, but do it with gusto. You know, like you really *believe* in the tomato soup. And try to sell me on whatever club sandwich variant your menu features. Then argue about – what? Transfer me to room service? But then I’ll have to explain this to Carlos all over again. Fine. Fine. But you’re missing out.