The Honeymooners (sort of)

For a year or two, I was marketing manager of a very large McDonald’s franchise in southeast Georgia and South Carolina back in the mid 70s. The owners were generous in sending me to conventions and let me tell you, McDonald’s knew how to put on a show. They used the latest (at the time) in technology and obviously had hired some of the best in promoters.


The first convention I attended was held in Chicago for an entire week. I came to McDonald’s from a nonprofit agency where money was scarce, so when I attended the welcome ceremony, I was in total awe and so pumped up, I was ready to take on world peace.


After the elegant dinner that first evening, I later met a couple of guys in the hotel’s bar who were best friends, both actually from Chicago and both lawyers. They were attending a seminar on some kind of law at the same hotel and we three were instantly attracted. Don’t worry, I’m not going to be telling you about a ménage a trios’ although that probably would have been fun with these two.


But, as you’ve probably already surmised, I did hook up romantically with one them and we spent several nights in my hotel room, the first one being the most memorable. Now that you’ve got the picture this is what happened.


About 7 a.m. on the morning of a very nice “after,” we were woke up by a knock on my door. I had set my alarm for 7:30, so we were both still very much in the throes of deep sleep. My friend turned to me and asked if I had ordered room service for breakfast. Nope, I told him, and I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when there came a pounding on the door.


My friend got up, went to the door and looked through the peephole… then he jumped back as if something had pushed him roughly away. He turned to me and said:


He: “I don’t believe this! Art Carney is pounding on your door.”


Me: (Throwing the covers back, I bounded out of bed) “What?”


He: (Eyes wide and looking a bit dazed) “Art Carney! You know, the guy on The Honeymooners.”


Me: (Rushing to the door to look for myself) “No way.”


About this time, the pounding increases and I hear someone shouting: “Hey, wake up in there!”


Me: (Laughing out loud as I indeed see Art Carney through the peephole) “What a way to wake us up!”


Carney: “Get the hell up! I can hear youuuuuu!” he says in singsong. He’s wearing his Honeymooners get up; the slightly crushed hat, the open vest over a tee and the baggy pants. And he’s pounding on the door with a toilet plunger.

He: (Wrapping himself in a towel) “I can’t believe this.”


Me: (Still laughing while putting on my robe) “I can! These people are serious marketers.”


I opened the door just as Mr. Carney was about to pound one more time. He looked over my shoulder at my friend and said: “All right, now that I’ve got youse guys up, I have a little something for you. Out of sight was a room service cart. He draped a linen napkin over his left arm and rolled that cart right into my room, smiling widely all the time. After he positioned the cart with a flourish, he said: “ It’s only croissants and coffee for one but from the looks of youse two, I don’t think you’ll care.” And out he marched, closing the door softly behind him.


After Mr. Carney left, my friend said: “You know, I was born and raised in Chicago and I see famous people all the time in the restaurants, on the streets, whatever. But I must say this is the first time I’ve had one wake me up in a hotel room. I can only imagine how much they must have paid him to do that.”


Art Carney was, of course, the only thing we convention attendees talked about that morning before the seminar began. And it was during these early morning conversations that I discovered he had not actually taken the room service carts into each room, but just presented them to the occupant in the hallway. Guess he had a soft heart for lovers, new or old.

Jane