Tell Us How You Enjoyed Your Stay!

“Guest Satisfaction Survey”, was the heading on the piece of mail that became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back; me being the camel, of course.  I remember it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.  It was January 16, 2009, a Friday.  When the mail arrived there was this customer survey from the Hampton Inn/Suites, addressed to Dick.  I opened it.  I knew I had never been a guest in any of their establishments with Dick, and I was curious to know when he had been there.  I knew who he had been there with, but not when.

Dear Guest,

Your recent stay at our Hampton Inn/Suites in Woburn is most appreciated.  Because we value your business and confidence in Hampton Inn/Suites, we would like your opinion as to how well we met your expectations….blah…blah…blah…yada…yada…yada…

I’ll bet it met his expectations just fine…of course he had been doing it in the car with her on occasion so anything would be a step up.  The survey could be filled out by hand and returned in a postage-paid envelope that was included for his convenience, but I decided to fill it out for him online because as they said in the letter, it was “faster and easier”.  It also provided me with the actual date that Dick had been there.  It was listed as the “check-out” date, December 31, 2008, so he had checked-in on the prior evening.  He must have treated Charlot to early New Year celebration.  Dick hadn’t gone on any overnight trips with, “the guys” since August, so it must have been one of those nights when he made a 3:00 am return home.

All righty then… so the envelope was addressed to Dick, so I may have committed a bit of a Federal offense by opening his mail, so what.  I could not have cared less.  Besides, he was never going to see this piece of evidence that was pointing the flying, fickle, finger of fate straight at his in-fi-delity.  I didn’t know what I was going to do with it, but I knew I was never going to confront him with it.  If I did, I would have to hear his “explanation”. I couldn’t stand the thought of listening to him try and bullshit his way out of it.  I would have to have him hurt.  Since I had shared all of his activities with just about everybody I knew, I had had many offers of, “I know a guy”, if you know what I mean. Of course, then I might need the services of a criminal defense attorney and a divorce attorney.  One case at a time, I told myself…I can always take care of my anger issues later. 

My best friend, Ann, had been a travel agent at one time, so I brought the survey letter to her just to be sure that it was revealing what I thought it was.  As she was reading it, I asked her if it could be some sort of promotional literature or if there was any other reason why he would receive something like this, other than the fact that he….she cut me off, finishing my sentence with….”That he’s a lying, cheating, asshole, piece of shit?  NO…there isn’t.  Hotels only send guest surveys to guests.  He’s obviously too stupid to realize that even if he paid for the room in cash when he checked out, he had still given them his credit card, with all his personal information, when he checked in.”  Then she pointed out how the reservation number and date were coded at the bottom of the page, noting that there were two listed, not just the one they had sent the survey for.  Apparently Dick had become one of their frequent flyers.  I had no idea what he had said he was doing those two nights, but I had been keeping a calendar of his comings and goings since September so all I had to do was look it up.  “Plowing, home 3 am,” was my entry for the night of the 20th;  we had a lot of snow that season.  On the 30th it said, "Shooting darts, home 2:30 am."  Yea, he was out those nights, "plowing" and "shooting", but it had nothing to do with snow or darts.

I sat there, staring at the numbers on the bottom of that survey.  A strange sense of calm came over me and I said, “Well, I guess that’s it then…we really are done.” I felt numb.  “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.  You don’t deserve this.  He doesn’t deserve you.  He never did.”  Ann said consoling me.  Then before I could say anything else, she had grabbed a steak knife off the counter and added, “Oh…I can’t stand him…I just want to stab his eyes out!!” as she thrust the knife up and down into a cutting board….”I hate him!”  I think she was channeling the anger I should have been expressing, but couldn’t for lack of energy.  After that we just sat there in silence for a bit.  And in the quiet of that moment I heard a flushing sound…it was the sound of my marriage going down the toilet.

When I got home Dick was out.  His note said “Gone to Mike’s.”  I knew that was really just code for, “Out with my whore.”  Call me a glutton for punishment, but I just couldn’t leave it alone.  I got back in my car and drove to the European where Charlot worked.  I think I went because I felt so numb, because I wanted to be angry.  I wanted to feel something, and if it wasn’t anger, then hurt, because anything was better than feeling nothing.  I felt dead inside and I knew if I was going to survive what was a head of me, I needed to feel.  I needed to hurt.  I needed to be angry so I could fight.  I pulled into the parking lot and as I rounded the corner the door to the lounge opened and there they were.  They were smiling and laughing as they walked arm in arm right past the car and never even noticed me.  I can’t remember Dick ever looking so absolutely happy, but at that moment, I also knew it was going to be the last time I would ever see a smile on his face.  I was going to file for divorce as soon as I could find the right attorney. He was about to lose half of all the money he had worked so hard to accumulate (and hide) during our marriage. With that and the cost of getting divorced would definitely slap that smile right off his face.  And if it didn’t, I was more than ready, willing and able to lend a hand to help it off.  Yup, there was a long, sad road called "Reality" ahead for Dick and I couldn't wait to get the ball rolling and lead him down it.