It’s 2 AM on a Sunday. I’m working at a late-night pizza place in Hollywood.

Caller: “I want [Pizza Combo].”

The caller sounds more than a little drunk.

Me: “Can I get an address?”

Caller: “It’s at the hotel down the street.”

Me: “I need an address.”

Caller: “The hotel! The one on Santa Monica!”

Me: “As in the boulevard?”

Caller: “Yeah! That’s the one!”

Me: “Can I get a hotel name and your name?”

Caller: “Just come to the hotel on Santa Monica!”

Me: “Santa Monica Boulevard is fourteen miles long.”

Caller: “…Well, that’s stupid!”

Me: “You can’t remember the name of your hotel?”

Caller: “No, lemme ask someone.” 

He hangs up, and I laugh it off and go back to work, happy to have never been so drunk I forgot the name of the hotel I was staying at.