D-EEaling with Island Kings…

When I booked our stay on Kadmath Island, I consciously sought out the most upscale of the several inhabited islands. The availability of things to do was also terribly important. This leg of our trip was for hubby and not me. I was here to make sure he had fun. So you can imagine my anger when our accommodations gave him heat exhaustion!  In my sleep-deprived, jet-lagged state, I saw blood. It was time for me to do something.

My options were to leave and forfeit the money for this all-inclusive stay or to broach management to make this right. I went to find management. I was overheated and pissed off.

I had to weed through a few lesser manager-wannabes before I got to Mr. Big Fucking Cheese. This elimination process was quick and effective. I guess these guys didn’t know how to deal with an overheated menopausal woman on a mission. All I had to do was say, “I want my money back” and they ran to find their superior. Hmm, that was easy.

Then along came Mr. Big Fucking Cheese. The guy looked like Pablo Escobar. Too funny.  From the moment that he opened his mouth, I had his number. He was trying an old fashioned, classic sales technique from the 70’s. He really thought he could just placate me with something, but I was ready.

It went something like this:

Pablo: “What’s the problem?”

Me: “Your resort is broken and is making us physically sick.”

Pablo: “Broken? How?”

Me: “Please do come in! Have a look.” I start with the tour of the overheated, bug-infested bathroom with the exposed light sockets in the shower. I then turned on the faucet that featured the absence of any water coming out.

Enter little grunt guy spoke quickly in Malay to Pablo. Pablo looked at me. Little Grunt Guy then he crouches under the pedestal of the sink and says, (and I quote) “Eeees work.” Little grunt guy then tries to direct me to get under the pedestal and learn to operate the plumbing via shut-off valve. (As if that would EVER happen!) I scowl at the guy. Now Little Grunt Guy, Pablo and I are dripping wet from the heat.

Me: Looking at Pablo I say, “Want to see what happens next?” I slightly lean on the sink and the 60 lb massive porcelain sink dislodges from the wall and begins to drop. All three of us catch it and lift  it back up onto the pedestal.

Pablo: ”Is that the only problem?”, he says stone face.

Me: “Please come see.” I point at the clock that’s out by 5 hours. I pull back the curtains and watch countless geckos and spiders scurry. I try and open the balcony doors which almost collapse forwards. I point out the air conditioning that  is blowing hot air and the broken refrigerator.

Then, in a dramatic conclusion,  I announce, “…and this place is making my husband sick.” That was what was needed. Oh yes, I most certainly got his attention. A ‘man’ getting sick! Well, things couldn’t move any faster. However, it was clear that Mr. Fucking Big Cheese wasn’t about to reimburse us a single rupee. We were immediately upgraded to their best accommodation, which was a far cry from even a 2 star suite. In fairness, we were given a deluxe bungalow with running water, flushable toilet and 3 overhead fans and a working AC unit and fridge at no extra cost. Brilliant.

Last night we slept like logs. Thank you very much Mr. Fucking Big Cheese.

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