Forget The Bible, this is the book that should be in every drawer of ever bedside table in every hotel room. Heads in Beds by Jacob Tomsky is just about the most horrifying (in a good way) book I’ve ever read. I had no idea that doing the “crinkly handshake” could get you a better room.  Or scarfing down the entire mini-bar just before demanding a room change (too smoky, too loud, too pink, whatever) would get you free grub. And more sadly, I was not aware of just how many housekeepers/heads of housekeeping may have had sex in my room just minutes before my initial entry.

And then there’s the dialogue.

“Imma take these five twenties and get myself a bobo.” (Pg. um, well location 2033).

You might not know what “bobo” means, but I do and I’m never calling a hundred dollar bill anything else. I’m also never not using a doorman. You’d be smarter to defriend someone on Facebook. No bag you say? Let him carry your iPhone. Your kid. Anything. But use him. Give him the crinkly handshake and your every wish will be his command. Unless he simply doesn’t like you (you screamed at your kid, cut a little old lady in line – they see it all) and then you’re pretty much doomed and housekeeping might very well do something unsanitary to your toothbrush.

Not only will this book make you laugh, it will make you smarter. Let the other yahoos suffer the consequences of calling the Front by their first name at check-in. And try not to break into chokes of laughter while watching that guy march up to the desk, throw down a Ziploc bag with a small black dot in it (raisin?), and try to swindle a bed bug room rate. Do, however, record it. And put it on YouTube.

Were it merely fiction, this book might not be one of the most entertaining books to grace my kindle. But being a memoir, it is. And the author didn’t even have to slide me a baby brick to say that.