The Hotel Manager (1)

“Grandpa, this is Greg. I sent you a warm and firm greeting!” I said out loud while looking askance at my dad.

My father was looking at me with a frown. My joke didn’t seem to be amusing despite his excellent sense of humor.

“You know what I think of this kind of joke, Greg.” He said in a dry tone.

I replied, “But Dad, it’s perfect. A communist joke on a paper letter, old-fashioned, we can’t waste this opportunity.”

I could feel my father’s gaze cut across me in anger.

“I am sorry,” I said while crumpling the paper. Then I looked at him again and smiled shyly.

Papa’s gaze softened, but seeing him made me consider it. He had forgotten the stories he had told Mom and me about the disasters that the “perfect” social system had put him through in his youth.

 “You don’t have to apologize. Comrade and our regime cannot be weak. Our peo