credit card."
December 23
Tme Plaza Hotel
3:00 P.M.
If Kevin was going to spend his vacation in New York, he'd need a place to stay. So why not try New York's most exciting hotel experience? As he stepped through the huge brass doors of the Plaza Hotel and into the lobby, he could see that this was his kind of place.
Several stories above him hung a giant crystal chandelier. The walls were covered with antique tapestries, and in tables all around him were elaborate floral displays in huge blue and white Chinese vases. Kevin pressed the "play" button on the Talkboy: " Guests of the new Celebrity Ding-Dang-Dong! stay at the world renowned Plaza Hotel. It's New York's most exciting hotel experience. For reservations call toll-free 1-800-759-3000. "
Kevin clicked off the Talkboy and smiled. I'll do just that, he thought.
To the left of the lobby he found a row of telephones along one wall. Unfortunately, the phones were just out of reach. But Kevin quickly found a solution—he piled two thick phone books on the floor and stood on them. Getting the Plaza to accept a room reservation from a kid was going to take a bit of ingenuity, but with the help of his Talkboy, Kevin thought he could do it.
He had just finished preparing the Talkboy for the call when a woman wearing a gray suit and carrying a black leather briefcase stepped up to the phone next to his. Kevin noticed she was staring at him.
"You know, in bathrooms they have little toilets for kids," Kevin said. "I guess the people who make phone booths don't care as much about kids as the people who make toilets. Excuse me, I have a call to make."
The woman quickly moved several phones away. Kevin dialed the 800 number for room reservations and set the Talkboy next to the phone. As soon as the reservations agent answered, he hit the "play" button and pressed his finger against the cassette tape, slowing it down so that his voice sounded deep and mature.
" Hello, this is Peter McCallister. The father. I'd like to have a hotel room, please. With an extra large bed and a TV and one of those little refrigerators with food in it that you have to open with a key. "
Kevin pressed the "pause" button.
"Do you have a credit card, sir?" the reservations agent asked.
Kevin pressed "play": " A credit card? You got it. "
The next thing the reservations agent heard was the account number on Peter McCallister's Visa card. A few seconds later, Kevin had his reservation. Next stop: the hotel reception counter.
Kevin crossed the lobby. A workman with a buffing machine was polishing the floor and making it so slick Kevin slipped and almost fell.
"Watch it, son," the man said.
Kevin regained his balance and walked more carefully. On the other side of the lobby, the reception counter was even higher than the one at the airport. Kevin pulled himself up until he could see over it. A female clerk with reddish brown hair stared back at him curiously. From the gold plate on her black dress Kevin knew her name was Ms. Acivedo.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Reservation for McCallister," Kevin said.
"A reservation for yourself?" Ms. Acivedo frowned.
Kevin had anticipated that question. "Are you serious? My feet aren't even touching the ground. I'm not tall enough to look over this counter. Think about it. A kid coming into a hotel and making a reservation? Not on this planet, ma'am."
Ms. Acivedo's neatly plucked eyebrows rose. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I'm traveling with my dad," Kevin explained. "He's at a business meeting right now. I hate going to his meetings because he always makes me sit in the waiting room. So he dropped me off here and gave me his credit card. He said you should check me into the room so I don't get into mischief."
Kevin slid his father's Visa card across the counter and held his breath while Ms. Acivedo inspected it. She seemed to take a long time.
Oh-oh, he thought. Maybe I did something wrong. He was just getting ready to run when Ms. Acivedo
December 23
Tme Plaza Hotel
3:00 P.M.
If Kevin was going to spend his vacation in New York, he'd need a place to stay. So why not try New York's most exciting hotel experience? As he stepped through the huge brass doors of the Plaza Hotel and into the lobby, he could see that this was his kind of place.
Several stories above him hung a giant crystal chandelier. The walls were covered with antique tapestries, and in tables all around him were elaborate floral displays in huge blue and white Chinese vases. Kevin pressed the "play" button on the Talkboy: " Guests of the new Celebrity Ding-Dang-Dong! stay at the world renowned Plaza Hotel. It's New York's most exciting hotel experience. For reservations call toll-free 1-800-759-3000. "
Kevin clicked off the Talkboy and smiled. I'll do just that, he thought.
To the left of the lobby he found a row of telephones along one wall. Unfortunately, the phones were just out of reach. But Kevin quickly found a solution—he piled two thick phone books on the floor and stood on them. Getting the Plaza to accept a room reservation from a kid was going to take a bit of ingenuity, but with the help of his Talkboy, Kevin thought he could do it.
He had just finished preparing the Talkboy for the call when a woman wearing a gray suit and carrying a black leather briefcase stepped up to the phone next to his. Kevin noticed she was staring at him.
"You know, in bathrooms they have little toilets for kids," Kevin said. "I guess the people who make phone booths don't care as much about kids as the people who make toilets. Excuse me, I have a call to make."
The woman quickly moved several phones away. Kevin dialed the 800 number for room reservations and set the Talkboy next to the phone. As soon as the reservations agent answered, he hit the "play" button and pressed his finger against the cassette tape, slowing it down so that his voice sounded deep and mature.
" Hello, this is Peter McCallister. The father. I'd like to have a hotel room, please. With an extra large bed and a TV and one of those little refrigerators with food in it that you have to open with a key. "
Kevin pressed the "pause" button.
"Do you have a credit card, sir?" the reservations agent asked.
Kevin pressed "play": " A credit card? You got it. "
The next thing the reservations agent heard was the account number on Peter McCallister's Visa card. A few seconds later, Kevin had his reservation. Next stop: the hotel reception counter.
Kevin crossed the lobby. A workman with a buffing machine was polishing the floor and making it so slick Kevin slipped and almost fell.
"Watch it, son," the man said.
Kevin regained his balance and walked more carefully. On the other side of the lobby, the reception counter was even higher than the one at the airport. Kevin pulled himself up until he could see over it. A female clerk with reddish brown hair stared back at him curiously. From the gold plate on her black dress Kevin knew her name was Ms. Acivedo.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Reservation for McCallister," Kevin said.
"A reservation for yourself?" Ms. Acivedo frowned.
Kevin had anticipated that question. "Are you serious? My feet aren't even touching the ground. I'm not tall enough to look over this counter. Think about it. A kid coming into a hotel and making a reservation? Not on this planet, ma'am."
Ms. Acivedo's neatly plucked eyebrows rose. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I'm traveling with my dad," Kevin explained. "He's at a business meeting right now. I hate going to his meetings because he always makes me sit in the waiting room. So he dropped me off here and gave me his credit card. He said you should check me into the room so I don't get into mischief."
Kevin slid his father's Visa card across the counter and held his breath while Ms. Acivedo inspected it. She seemed to take a long time.
Oh-oh, he thought. Maybe I did something wrong. He was just getting ready to run when Ms. Acivedo
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