For almost a decade, The Regency was considered the poshest hotel in Scat City. The rich and the famous would stay nowhere else, as a rule, but it was its reputation for elegance and a certain international je ne sais quoi that attracted the ambassadors of the first, second, third and emerging fourth world countries. The acme of American customer service, no request of its staff was too inconvenient, no towel less than terry, no champagne less than tony, no book of religious worship in over two-hundred available languages placed at the request of the guests less than divine. Sadly, the hotel was shut down when it was revealed – in a startling exposé in the Wall Street Journal – that The Regency was actually a practical joke on the part of Scat City. The head of the city council, the mayor, the chairman of The Regency, knew nothing else would attract the high and mighty like an out of the way, high-priced hotspot with absurdist amenities and an army of minimum-wage joyslaves. People don’t generally visit Scat City, and it was the population’s way of getting a cheap laugh on the rest of the world’s dime.
The rest of the world was not amused, and The Regency’s guests disappeared almost overnight. This was part of the gag for the city, which spent days laughing during the drive to work, in the cafes at lunch, at home with the kids, and on picnics over the weekend. The world told them to knock it off, and the citizens gradually subsided to poorly repressed giggles, smirks, chuckles, hee-haws, and yucks.
People tend to avoid Scat City. There’s a lot of obscene comradery in that town.