What do you do when you show up at will call for Spamalot and it turns out the concierge got your tickets for the next night? You don’t sigh, you don’t cry: you fortify the buzz you developed at dinner with another pint, create an artificial quest and head to the Marble Arch, then photograph your way down Oxford Street.
well, that is just unacceptable. I’m going to have my concierge call your concierge and give her a stern talking to.
Please write a story about a place where everyone in the world has a concierge. Please.