Sign, sign, everywhere a sign

My daily walking route takes me by an upmarket boutique hotel. I’ve only been inside for drinks. And since I’m not generally willing to fork out $15 for a gin and tonic, the times I’ve been in there are few. The drink prices are in keeping with the rack rate, which is relatively steep by Boston standards.

I often check out who’s going in and out, and, while I haven’t spotted anyone famous, most of the people going in and out do look, if not rich, at least reasonably well off. Lots of Lexuses (Lexi?) and Benz’s. Lots of fur coats. Lots of Vuitton bags. Plenty of botoxish blond(e)s - male and female - who look like they acquired that tan in Florida, not at the local Tan-O-Rama. The guests are always being helped in and out of there by door-men/valets who, quite curiously, wear somewhat menacing black homburgs reminiscent of those worn by members of the Gestapo.

As I walked by the other day, I noticed a sign standing where the curb curves in to allow cars to pull up more easily. (Like so many other streets in Ye Olde Boston, this one’s narrow and heavily trafficked. There’s not enough room for a real entry way to the hotel, so they make a little do.)

The sign read:

MOOO….Valet parking.

MOOO?

MOOO?

Question about whether there are three O’s in "moo" or two aside, if you’re running a $$$ a night hotel do you really want to equate your guests with cows?

Okay, on one level, it is sort of funny.

Except that, there’s never really much of a line.

Is this some kind of rich folk joke. That to them, having anyone ahead of them is the equivalent of being herded into a cattle pen?

Come on, I am not above letting out a little "moo" when I’m queuing up with 500 other people to get through airport security. Or when I’m being herded in the opposite direction from where I want to go when exiting Fenway Park.

But a 2-3 car wait…

MOOO?

Either the hotel staff are poking a little hostility-laced fun at their guests - which may be hard to resist, given that most of them probably can’t afford to stay there. Or the guests feel so darned oppressed if they have to wait 30 seconds for a chance to give their keys to one of the Gestapo-hatted valets.

"The rich are different from you and me."

"Yes. They have more money."

Well, there’s more to it than that.

And the "more to it" is that, once I got home and checked it out, I found that MOOO is actually the name of the Red Meat (which is how, well, things that come from the animal that goes "moo" are listed on the menu) restaurant in the boutique hotel.

Silly me.

We used to go out to nice restaurants quite regularly, but these days we pretty much go to our comfy neighborhood regular spots, where they don’t charge $15 for a G&T or get all cutesy about their names or how they list Red Meat on their menus. So, even though it’s only a 5 minute walk from where I live, I wasn’t aware of MOOO’s existence. (And I think I like my original interpretation of what it stood for better.)

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