Pop Stars in Hotel Rooms: An Occasional Series: Tom Waits for No Man
Taxi rank outside London Heathrow airport:
Taxi Driver: | Where to, guv? |
Wanna go town, town, town, and don’t call me that name, I said town, town, town, or I’ll take the train. | |
Taxi Driver: | All right, ’Old your ’air on. Whereabouts? |
Tom Waits: | Take me to the old town bar and make sure there’s a rebel star. |
Taxi Driver: | So, that’s the Charlotte Street Hotel, Fitzrovia, me old china. |
An hour later:
Doorman: | May I take your bags, sir? |
Well I was packing myself God, it took me all day Crushing all my shirts For a lousy two-day stay. | |
Receptionist: | Yes, sir, how may I help? |
I stay tonight at your hotel I’m as crazy as a honeyed hog I’ve knifed a man in the moon’s motel Took off on a butchered dog Danced with all the Tsars guitars Stalked the whores of Venice. | |
Receptionist: | So, that’s a double, en-suite, smoking. Would you like a newspaper and a wake-up call? |
I ain’t got used to sleeping Under a tawdry sky Go ask old Beelzebub the time. | |
Receptionist: | And do you have a credit or debit card I can swipe for any extras? |
The gold swoops down a glockenspiel There’ll be no credit here. |
Hands over a platinum AmEx card.
Receptionist: | The lifts, sorry—elevators, are across the lobby to your right. Enjoy your stay with us, Mr Waits. |
Its heart is made of candy-floss Doors open in a mad bouquet. | |
Which floor, sir? | |
You can take me to the ceiling You can take me to the ball You can make it on a feeling It’ll cost you nothing at all. | |
Lift Attendant: | Fourth floor, it is. Mind the doors. |
An hour later:
Telephone: | Room service. How may I help? |
Well butter up some daybreak, slice me a deal Undo what the plums done when the dandelion was killed Thick dough on the dark side, jam for ever more Egg down the sausage and bring it to my door. | |
Room Service: | That’s orange juice, preserves, toast, and a full English breakfast. Any tea or coffee with that, sir? |
And the ghost of a hillside In the whistle of a cloud. | |
Room Service: | A caff-macchiato. No problem, sir. |
An hour later:
Reception: | Yes, sir, how may I help? |
Outside a drunken stoop, yanking around in all the porn shops Get laid, I’d rather talk, sleep in the doorway of the porn shops. | |
Reception: | If you press the Pay-Per-View button on your handset and then input your room number, you can access Teens in G-Strings and Get Behind the Donkey for £8.99. These will appear on your bill as “Movies”. If I can be of any further assistance, please don’t hesitate to call. |
Hotel room. Tom is sitting at an oak writing bureau, it has a green-leather tooled top, he is facing the window and sucking a pencil, his head cocked to the left. He takes the pencil from his mouth and writes on the Suggestions postcard:
My mouth tells me a story
Of a scratching and an itch
I only came to London town
To end up in a ditch.
Oh, and some instructions |