The Ricker likes a good scam.
Whether it's free car washes, free meals or free hotel rooms, the Ricker likes free things. He once told me he landscaped his first house in Denver using the "Midnight Nursery," which meant he dug up other people's landscaping in the middle of the night.
He stays at a certain hotel chain two or three times per year. I think he paid for a room once back in 1998, but he has been accruing free rooms for nearly 10 years by finding something wrong every trip.
However, I think he just pulled off his ultimate travel scam. He convinced a hotel/casino in New Mexico to put him and Mrs. Ricker up for three nights, including meals, a round of golf, a spa treatment and tickets to a B.B. King concert by telling the resort that he was planning on writing a travel article on his experience. Never mind that he has no professional writing experience, or that he has no contacts at newspapers or magazines, or that reputable magazines don't accept freelance articles where the writer was comped. I have no clue how he pulled this off, but he even pulled the state's office of tourism into his article on leaving the country in the land of enchantment (i.e., the shithole known as New Mexico).
(Side note: The whole plot was a surprise for Mrs. Ricker's birthday in May. She HATES surprises for her birthday, especially those that involve travel that she doesn't know about. Why the Ricker continues to surprise her every year, I don't know. And why she doesn't just expect to be surprised every year, I don't know. He really only has two or three tricks.)
The Ricker and Mrs. Ricker drove to New Mexico, with the Ricker telling her that they were leaving the country. Of course, not until they had arrived at the resort did he tell her what he meant: they were on an Indian reservation! It's not in the country! But it is in the country! Get it? The Ricker met with the resort's tourism director and communications director, and explained that while he didn't have any actual leads on publishing his article, he was confident he could sell it to a newspaper travel section. They liked his pitch so much that the resort even threw in some gambling money so my parents could pull some slots. If that's not buying a favorable story, I don't know what is. He even told them that some of his early poetry had been published in the New Yorker. When he told me that, I laughed. I mean, he showed me all of his old poetry, and some of it was pretty good, but don't you think he would have told me about this New Yorker thing earlier?
The Ricker enjoyed the property for three days, playing golf, going to the casino and visiting the pool (he needs his nightly hot tub, after all). Mrs. Ricker received a spa treatment, and they ate at all the resort's restaurants. On the last night of their stay, they saw B.B. King in the resort's auditorium.
This trip was three months ago, and I haven't heard the Ricker mention his article since. Let's say it together: S-C-A-M.
Whether it's free car washes, free meals or free hotel rooms, the Ricker likes free things. He once told me he landscaped his first house in Denver using the "Midnight Nursery," which meant he dug up other people's landscaping in the middle of the night.
He stays at a certain hotel chain two or three times per year. I think he paid for a room once back in 1998, but he has been accruing free rooms for nearly 10 years by finding something wrong every trip.
However, I think he just pulled off his ultimate travel scam. He convinced a hotel/casino in New Mexico to put him and Mrs. Ricker up for three nights, including meals, a round of golf, a spa treatment and tickets to a B.B. King concert by telling the resort that he was planning on writing a travel article on his experience. Never mind that he has no professional writing experience, or that he has no contacts at newspapers or magazines, or that reputable magazines don't accept freelance articles where the writer was comped. I have no clue how he pulled this off, but he even pulled the state's office of tourism into his article on leaving the country in the land of enchantment (i.e., the shithole known as New Mexico).
(Side note: The whole plot was a surprise for Mrs. Ricker's birthday in May. She HATES surprises for her birthday, especially those that involve travel that she doesn't know about. Why the Ricker continues to surprise her every year, I don't know. And why she doesn't just expect to be surprised every year, I don't know. He really only has two or three tricks.)
The Ricker and Mrs. Ricker drove to New Mexico, with the Ricker telling her that they were leaving the country. Of course, not until they had arrived at the resort did he tell her what he meant: they were on an Indian reservation! It's not in the country! But it is in the country! Get it? The Ricker met with the resort's tourism director and communications director, and explained that while he didn't have any actual leads on publishing his article, he was confident he could sell it to a newspaper travel section. They liked his pitch so much that the resort even threw in some gambling money so my parents could pull some slots. If that's not buying a favorable story, I don't know what is. He even told them that some of his early poetry had been published in the New Yorker. When he told me that, I laughed. I mean, he showed me all of his old poetry, and some of it was pretty good, but don't you think he would have told me about this New Yorker thing earlier?
The Ricker enjoyed the property for three days, playing golf, going to the casino and visiting the pool (he needs his nightly hot tub, after all). Mrs. Ricker received a spa treatment, and they ate at all the resort's restaurants. On the last night of their stay, they saw B.B. King in the resort's auditorium.
This trip was three months ago, and I haven't heard the Ricker mention his article since. Let's say it together: S-C-A-M.
posted at 6:23 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home