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Saturday, January 14, 2012

What's My Name Again?

While I was sleeping, Steven booked in Anthony and the next morning, I checked the register.

When I trill: "Good Morning (insert name here), I hope you slept well etc", the guests are rather thrilled.

This did not happen with Anthony.

"Good Morning, Anthony," I say.

"My name is Mark," he replies.

"I apologise, but you signed in as Anthony," I continue.

"But, I told you my name is Timothy."

I hope the FBI isn't on his tail.

Late the following night, three arrivals for the dorm, which already had three, including Mark Timothy Anthony.

They insisted that according to my website, each bed cost R25 each and not R150 each. They left in a huff threatening to contact the Tourism Board.

The following night, two German gentlemen arrived, who could not speak a word of English.

Not. A. Word.

They sat on either side of me on the couch, and opened a bag of coins.

"Phula, Dollar, Pound," they repeated, and repeated again, in unison.

I nodded my head nervously, wondering what they were on about.

I finally clicked, that they were re-iterating all the places they had visited.

I have a bottle of stray coins and a board of notes but I've hardly been anywhere.

But, I wasn't about to tell them that.

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