I'm Psychic.

I wrote Hitchcock's The Birds, and now they're all dying wherever and that's all me, baby.

Not really.  BUT.  Wouldn't that be cool?  Then it would be Wednesday's The Birds.

That's not what this post is actually about.  I really am psychic.  This evening I was kinda daydreaming and thinking about how I should probably check out the rooms some more because I don't actually know what all is in them.  What if someone calls and asks if there was a safe in the room?  I'd have no clue!

I thought about how I'd probably just attempt to dodge the question by offering to store items behind the counter if there wasn't a satisfactory spot in the room.

Then this fellow comes in the lobby and stops on his way to the elevator to ask me if the room has a safe in it.  NO LIE.  So I tell him that I am not sure, but that I can store things behind the counter for him if he'd like.  He explains that they're a bunch of really important passports and papers and asked if we had a safe we could put them in in the back (we don't).  Dodge dodged!  Sad.

So I'm psychic but not psychic enough to see into the rooms with my mind's eye.

I wonder if we have safes in the rooms or not?

-Wednesday