The oldest thing I ever saw personally on Earth wasn’t a stalactite, a trilobite, the crypt keeper, a desiccated mandarin or a greeter at Walmart. Nope, the oldest thing I’ve seen was an Arab Sheikh being carried out of a London hotel on a sedan chair by four white robed Saudi footman to his waiting Daimler Benz. He was inert and it seemed as if, at any moment, he’d resolve into the pile ancient dust he truly was, including his risibly jet black goatee. The doormen were fawning and obsequious beyond the fawning and obsequiousness one expects of doormen at a posh Central London hostelry. The hotel’s staff formed rows on either side of his retinue, a retinue that included the guy’s sons, numerous and way-too-dishy wives, servants and toadies various. As the English chefs, chambermaids, concierges and managers applauded wildly, I inquired just what in the blue blazes was going on. The assistant concierge spilled the beans.
© 2024 John Oliver
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