Continental Breakfast

A Man Who Enjoys a Continental Breakfast - Key & Peele

"Here's your key, sir.  Elevators are to your left.  Breakfast is from 6 am to 10 am."

I glanced at the breakfast area.  Through the darkness I spotted a bagel slicer.  My mind darted back to a stay I had endured at a questionable hotel in Manhattan about a decade ago.  I recalled the tempestuous debate I had had with the hotel manager regarding some crumbs I had noticed inside the bagel slicer; the point of contention being that the manager believed they were innocent scrapings from cinnamon-raisin bagels and I believed they were remnants of ordure produced by the rodents I was sure to have seen scampering around the corner.  

I shuddered.

As I walked towards the elevator, I hallucinated rainbow colored mice carrying cinnamon-raisin bagels alongside me.  It was almost midnight.  I clearly needed sleep.  Leaving the rodents behind, I stepped into the elevator.

The oblique light of dawn kissed me into wakefulness.  Propping myself up between the severely tucked sheets, I looked around, squinting.  The room looked pretty neat.  A huge window, a large screen TV, a small frig, a microwave, a fancy upholstered slipper chair, and a pretty clean looking carpet.  I took a deep breath.  No musty smell.  Not bad, I thought to myself.  I rolled out of bed and walked up to the window.  The sun was rising over the horizon the DC metro area seemed to disappear into.   My gaze got fixated on a systematic cloverleaf highway interchange that was layered carefully over a labyrinth of disorderly local roads, and it suddenly gave me a sense of security and strengthened my faith in the positive nature of evolutionary advancement of civilization.  A great deal of good cheer returned to my disposition.  Bagel bearing vermin were long forgotten.

My stomach growled.  

As I took the elevator down, I caught a whiff of bacon.  Being a vegetarian, there was a slight dwindling in the optimism I had garnered earlier, but I didn't lose heart.  Complimentary breakfast is a good thing, I told myself.  I stepped out of the elevator and incorporated my hungry frame into the esurient assemblage of a couple dozen hotel guests.  The mob seamlessly transported me to the hot food section with three stainless steel chafing containers.  I ignored the first one that contained bacon.  The second one had breakfast potatoes.  You know, the cubed and roasted and seasoned kind.  Good, I thought to myself, this I can eat!  And just I had made up my mind, the sinless fella ahead of me in the line used the bacon tongs to serve himself the potatoes!

Great!  Potatoes were out now.  

I strengthened my resolve.  Complimentary breakfast is a good thing, I told myself, and approached the third chafing container.  Scrambled eggs!  Yay, I told myself, I can eat this!  I could almost feel the good cheer returning as I dug into the eggs with the ladle.  And just as I was about to serve the eggs on my plate, I saw a small piece of bacon stuck to the bottom of the ladle!  This time, all of the good cheer vanished.  I must have dropped the ladle hard on spoon rest, because my sinless friend suddenly turned around and stared at me.  I looked at him and shrugged.

Next was a wall mounted plastic cereal dispenser with Froot Loops, and a jug of cold milk labeled "skim".  Although by no means was cereal my breakfast de choix, I decided to suck it up and serve myself some, because, you know, complimentary breakfast is a good thing.  Mustering up some of that good cheer again, I took a bowl and turned the knob on the dispenser.  What followed was an ugly crushing sound.  Before I knew it, a jet of colorful fairy dust like powder shot into my bowl!

Eggs out.  Cereal out.

By this point, good cheer was beginning to seem like an academic abstraction.  The mob now ferried me over to the section with breads.  As I walked past the cream cheeses and butters and jams, I managed to muster up just a tiny bit of some lukewarm cheer.  Bread it is, I told myself, I can eat that.  With butter.  May be I'll even throw some ketchup on it.  Oh, and I can even season it with black pepper.  Or how about a jam sandwich?  Or may be I could do a nice crisp toast with cream cheese smeared on it.  Oh, and I could season this one with black pepper too!

It wasn't exactly good cheer, but it was something.  I straightened my spine and marched forth with the mob.  And just as I was feeling more determined, the mob deposited me right in front of that bagel slicer!  

As I felt my PTSD kick in, I rapidly looked away and focused my attention on the bread case next to it.  I scanned the assortment to make my choice.  White bread?  No, I can do better than that, I said to myself.  Multigrain bread?  Nah, that's basically white bread with some grains.  Rye bread?  What is rye bread anyway?  Oh, wait, what's that...?  

Lo and behold!  I could spy with my little eyes some innocent scrapings from non-existent cinnamon-raisin bagels!