The Mandela Effect

Chapter 69

Jon realized, as they pulled up to the hotel, that he didn't actually know what it looked like. He had been talking about it for nearly a year, but hadn't actually looked up the hotel and seen pictures. He had imagined a stunning facade of steel and glass, reminiscent of a supervillain's lair.

Instead, he was met by the charming curved eaves of a Dutch Colonial bed and breakfast. It seemed like the kind of place he would book for a weekend away in the country or at the shore on AirBnB. Once they were parked out in front of the door, he realized it was bigger than it looked further down the drive, but there was no inkling of the monumental discussions going on inside.

Once the car came to a stop, Jon reached for the door handle but waited on Wolfe who was busy on his phone. When he looked up, Wolfe smiled at Jon.

"What are you doing?" Wolfe asks.

"Waiting?" Jon half-asks.

"You can go in," Wolfe chuckles, "everything's copacetic. Give your own name at the front desk and they will take you to your room."

"And everything is just there?" Jon asks, "my bag?"

"Yes," Wolfe continues, "trust me, everything for the next few days will be entirely taken care of. We are really just cogs in a machine."

Jon looked up at the front door, and then turned back to Wolfe.

"Yea," Jon sighed, "I'm not sure I'm ready for or capable of blending in with the crowd."

Wolfe leaned back and nodded, "I get it. Well then you must go in on your own."

"Wolfe," Jon pleaded, "come on."

"You are under a completely false impression, Jon," Wolfe chided, "it's important that you break it quickly."

"What's the false impression?" Jon asks.

"You think that there is some huge distinction between yourself," Wolfe explained, "and anyone in that building. Now, some people may think so. But those who do, they won't talk to you. And they wouldn't talk if you tried."

Jon nodded and turned back to the front door.

"For everyone else," Wolfe continues, "they don't care who you are. If you are here, you belong. That only leaves the staff, and trust me, they can't tell the difference."

Jon sighed, "Alright, alright. I'm going."

Wolfe went back to his phone, "settle in, and I'll come find you in about an hour."

Jon sighed again, then he pulled the door handle and stepped out.

The check-in was exactly as Wolfe explained. Jon walked up to the front desk empty-handed. He smiled at the girl behind the counter. She greeted him with a half-smile.

"Welkom," she says less than confidently, "Willkommen, Bienvenu."

"Hi," Jon greeted her, understanding but desperately hoping she also spoke English.

"Welcome!" she says far more confidently, "to the Hotel De Bilderberg."

"Ahhh," Jon sighed, "thank you, and thank god."

The girl smiled somewhat embarrassed, "I'm sorry, sir, I am usually so good at picking out a native tongue but I clearly missed it."

"It's fine!" Jon comforted her, "Ek kan 'n bietjie Nederlands verstaan ​​as jy nodig het."

"Ahhhh!" the woman smiled again, "Je Nederlands is niet slecht."

Jon eyed her as the wheels spun behind his eyes.