I Was Murdered at the White Lotus Orlando

Dearest Alexia,

You were right to question why I was still attending the Worldwide Couriers Conference even after Satchel Delivery Express went bankrupt suddenly after 20 years of loyal customers finally realized they could simply use email to deliver advertisements.

The truth is, every spring break I’ve actually gone to Orlando with my girlfriend of ten years and our twin six-year-old boys, Liam and Jackson. While I know this must come as quite a shock 30 years into a marriage, I know that you would come to love the children as I, after two years, came to love them, as well.

Anyway, a month ago I received a mailer coupon for the new White Lotus Botanical Garden Inn flagship hotel in glorious, beatific Orlando, FL. In an effort to distance the company name from the PR nightmare of numerous murders that have occurred at various White Lotus locales worldwide, the luxury brand has begun a new chain of full service hotels targeting business and leisure travelers looking for an upscale experience on an affordable budget, which is exactly how I would describe myself and my life partner, Caitlyn.

I know when I was building my now-failed business, I always said we were too busy to travel, but the truth is that Caitlyn is just so much easier to travel with—unfussy and agreeable with staff and fellow guests alike. And she is such a tremendous mother. Her warmth and compassion with Liam and Jackson, I wish you could see them together.

Well, what happened was this: a very stout man with a red face and thick mustache was also staying at the hotel while we were there—and unbeknownst to the rest of us, just the day prior, he’d collected a shipping container in Port Canaveral filled with 14-year-old Romanian girls. He was taking them to Disney before sending them off to their final destination (Jackson Hole, WY, I believe—coincidentally, Caitlyn and I had hoped to take a ski trip there next January).

Anyway, after I’d had my usual three morning whiskeys (I know it’s only two normally but I thought, what the hell, I’m on vacation!), I was chasing the boys in the pool on a large unicorn floatation device and bellowing in a mighty aggressive manner. They were, somewhat confusingly, utterly terrorized and started wailing for their mother, who was still upstairs in bed after an uproarious night of intercourse.

But, sopping wet as I was, I said, fine, let your mother deal with you—little heathens! So I dragged Liam and Jackson straight out of the pool and was marching them through the lobby at apparently the exact moment the Orlando SWAT team learned that Mr. Mustache had 26 underage guests in his room, not to mention an incalculable amount of counterfeit Disney merchandise—“Mikey” Mouse ear headbands, etc.

Well, one thing led to another and, all in all, about 16 of us were killed. I forgot my sandals at the pool and slipped on the freshly waxed floor, but Liam and Jackson kept running ahead of me, taunting me and pointing. Thankfully, this move saved their lives, and now they merely have to live with the memory of their physically distant but emotionally dear father being shot through the face and bleeding out in front of them, reeking of booze.

So much for the PR pivot.

Best,

Roger