From “Chess for Dipshits,” by Gord “Hap O’Loppa” Radcliff
4: The Great Bedbug Situation
Fortunately, I was up and around when we were informed we had to change hotels. I had just finished a writeup of the day’s chess action for the Hapilopper City Herald and was at the hotel bar enjoying a cocktail when someone came over to me and informed me that I was going to have to leave the hotel. For a second, it made me worried that I had done something the night before or this morning that had offended the proprietors of the hotel, or that someone had complained about something I had done, or damn it, someone was trying to collect a bounty, but fortunately, it had nothing to do with me.
“We’ve received reports of a bedbug infestation,” a staff member tells me.
It surprised me, to be honest. I’ve been in South Newlandia for a few days and I hadn’t experienced anything like that. Because I like saving money, I don’t normally stay in the nicest of places. I stay in cheaper places, places where a bedbug infestation would be more likely. Places that have strange and funky smells, places that have holes in the walls that came from fists and firearms. The Ivory Crown is none of those places, so hearing of a bedbug infestation shocked me.
But, they do what they have to do. Reluctantly, I paid the bartender, gave him a nice tip and went back to my room to pack everything up. But as I was packing my things up, I could hear screaming in the room next to me. Figuring I’d make sure everyone was OK, I rushed over to see what was going on. I was greeted with the sight of Eliza Hayden wearing nothing but a towel screaming at a housekeeper for having the audacity for interrupting her bath to let her know that she had to vacate the hotel because of the bedbug situation.
“There’s no fucking bedbugs in this room, so how DARE you come in here while I’m trying to have a relaxing moment to myself!” Eliza roared. “I’ve had a stressful day, I want some time to myself and now I’m being told I have to leave? What the hell kind of two-bit establishment is this?”
“Ma’am, it’s not that, we have to do this...”
“Horseshit!” Eliza screamed. “And what the hell are you doing in here, Hap O’Loppa?”
“I just wanted to make sure everyone was OK,” I reply.
“Well, GET OUT! Both of you! Let me have this moment to myself so I don’t kick either of your asses!” Eliza snapped. Given the fact that she famously introduced a church pastor’s head to his rear a couple of years ago because he made a public statement disapproving of the fact that she is such a notable media figure and an out lesbian, and given the fact she wrote a book about that very topic, I decided not to call her bluff and got the hell out of there.
Later on, when I saw her at our new hotel not far from Board’s Edge, where the rest of the tournament would take place, I apologized to her, saying I wasn’t trying to intrude, I just wanted to make sure everything was OK. Thankfully, she understood.
But things got a little bit more interesting as I enjoyed breakfast with Jeff Twist the next morning.
“I’m not a betting man, but if I was, I’d put $20 down and said the whole thing was made up,” Jeff says. “And I’d say someone is taking advantage of those poor folks here.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I’m saying is, you have highly competitive people here,” Jeff continues. “We’re in the most prestigious chess competition in the multiverse. And while I don’t know half these people, I can imagine there are people that will do whatever it takes to give themselves a competitive advantage. And if that means putting a bit of anxiety into the hearts of their opponents... I mean, bedbugs are a terrible thing. People fear bedbugs. You know that thing we were told as kids? ‘Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,’ and now we’ve got a fear of bedbugs. It’s so bad that our last hotel got shut down because of a rumor. I didn’t have any bedbugs in my room, did you?”
“No.”
“Right. I bet someone’s made this whole thing up,” Jeff explains. “And given what I heard from Eliza, I hope she doesn’t find out who did it, they’ll end up like that preacher man.”
“What did you hear?”
“That you were one towel and thirty seconds away from getting your ass whooped,” Jeff tells me. “She said you were beyond apologetic and that you wanted to make sure nobody was getting hurt, so she thought it was funny. She’s got no hard feelings toward you.”
“OK, good.”
The rumors, it turned out, had originated from the team from Raspotochje. I don’t know any of those guys, so I figured it’d be a mistake if I introduced myself to them and then said that people were thinking they had made all of that up. I’m an idiot, but I’m not stupid. Later on, I watched videos of their match against South Newlandia, and saw the Raspotochjeans were scratching themselves silly - to the point that judges had to admonish them a time or two. So I asked Jeff about it, because it looked pretty legit to me.
“Itching powder,” Jeff says. “You can get itching powder at any prank store for like $5 and use it to your advantage. They probably used the itching powder to make them act like they’re in that kind of bad way. I bet anything they’ve made all that up.”
