It's Your Fault

*ring ring*

"Front desk, this is Wednesday, how may I assist you?"

"Yeah, can I have some ice cream?"

(...I feel like we have some in the back freezer, but it always has heavy stuff on it, so I never look...)  "Yes ma'am, I believe we do have ice cream down here.  We can't deliver it to your room, though, you would need to come get it in the lobby."
"Oh.  Well...why not?  Do you not offer room service?"  (sounds like I just told her that her puppy died)

"No, ma'am, we don't."

"Well why not?"

"...it's not our policy?"  (I'm so confused...I didn't realize not delivering it was a dealbreaker)

"Ohhh.  That's not good."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Yeaaaahhh..."

"Okay?  Alright ma'am, you have a great night."

"Byeeeee...but it's your fault...buh byeee."

It took all my effort to postpone laughing until after I'd hung up the phone.  If she'd said it jokingly it would have just been, well, normal.  Goofy, even.  But she was sincerely deflated and upset.  She sounded like by telling her she had to come down to get the ice cream I'd popped her balloon of ice cream-based happiness.  And she was not happy that I had popped her balloon.

She was not happy at all.



-Wednesday
(who still does not understand how "it's your fault" fits into the middle of a goodbye)