That’s right, I think that hotel owners and managers should be required to live in one of their hotel rooms, anonymously, 2 weeks a year WITH ANOTHER PERSON. Yep, if I made laws this would be one, except that I object to passing laws in general almost to the point that I could fit into the category of an anarchist.
The 10 laws that God came up with pretty much cover everything, in my opinion. I’m not even going to get into tax laws because I will start foaming at the mouth and it’s not a pretty sight.
So, back to hotel rooms. Seriously, who thinks up the arrangement in these damned rooms anyway? Did somebody take notes from old I Love Lucy episodes or what? You never even saw their bathroom so I guess it didn’t exist. 2 cutesy little beds and no one ever decided to sleep at different times than their partner. Lying back on a pillow that at first seems soft and then collapses to envelop your head in a cocoon of polyester is always a delight. The pillow also doubles as a sleep mask, and if your partner decides to end you after being stuck in the same bizarre room for days, they don’t have to work up a sweat to smother you in your sleep.
And then there is the bathroom. True, I am a minimalist at heart, but come on! Hotels now provide you with 85 towels and no place to hang even 1. But there is the chirpy little sign that asks you to save the planet and only throw your towel in the floor if you want a new one. Well hell yeah I want a new one. If you gave me some place to hang a towel, I wouldn’t need a new one now would I? I am not gonna pick up a towel off any floor anywhere at any time and reuse it.
Ah, counter space in the bathroom. I turn into a raging territorial baboon when it comes to my little corner of the bathroom counter. I travel lite and keep it small, but it doesn’t seem to help. My attitude is; don’t touch my stuff, don’t put your stuff on or in my stuff, don’t even think about laying a wet towel on my stuff, don’t put the book that you were reading on the toilet on my stuff, and don’t dig through my stuff looking for something because you forgot to bring stuff you needed! Mr. Hubman has not figured out how much this pisses me off after 10 years together. I love him but he’s a slow learner. Perhaps if I beat him senseless with my dop kit I can get through to him.
On to electrical outlets. These are usually conveniently located on the ceiling, behind the 300 pound chest of drawers with a TV bolted to the top, or directly next to the coffee maker that only works every other Tuesday from 2 to 3 am. Outlets seem to hate being located anywhere near where someone might actually want to use one. Like near the desk or bed to plug in your phone that you use as an alarm clock, calendar, reminder list and, in moments of extreme boredom, playing games. Is that too much to ask? If there are 2 people in the room and both have a phone and laptop, plan on charging something in the bathroom. But don’t use them in the tub. That’s the only advice I can give you on the subject.
Wireless internet is progress that many hotels are implementing, but don’t always hit the mark. If you plan on using wireless in your room while traveling, practice at home first. Try browsing the internet while perched on one foot on a pillow or exercise ball. After you master that, try doing it with the laptop as close to the ceiling as possible to get a signal. You get extra points if you can type without seeing the keyboard.
Mr. Husband is a big man, but not that big. At our hotel in Chicago he sat on the corner of the bed to put on his boots and the bed collapsed. I thought it was uproariously funny. It would have been a lot funnier if it collapsed while we were in it. He was not amused. I stopped feeling amused when I ended up being the one to go to the front desk and tell them that we broke the bed. The man I talked to was polite and non-judgmental, apologizing profusely. The woman standing off to the side rolled her eyes. I wanted to tell her that as tourists who had walked a thousand miles we were too tired to break the bed in the usual manner, but I decided to just let her think whatever she wanted to think.
So there you have it. Hotel Managers take heed. Are your ratings down? Stay a week or 2 in your hotel and you will feel your customer’s pain and know exactly what to do to get those ratings up.
Update – Day 3 of the bathroom remodel.
Yesterday was the jack hammer. I’m glad I was at work. Never realized such major destruction was required to move a toilet 4 inches to the right.
Now I know. The master bath is an empty shell now. Even the ceiling is gone. The shower is “roughed in” as they explained to me. All I know is that it’s dusty and it stinks.
Our back driveway has a huge dumpster parked on it. A bright blue port-potty perches at a precarious angle behind the dumpsters. I hope it has seatbelts. If it falls over, the neighbor behind us is going to be really ticked off. She has a perpetual garage sale going on which annoys Mr. Husband to no end. The ensuing flood will ruin all her junk. Maybe not such a bad thing after all.
I’m expecting some huge machine like the one in the picture so show up next. I have no idea what this one does, but it was evidently made in Russia. Is it a gigantic mosquito fogger? The worlds largest propaganda loud-speaker? If it shows up in front of our house I want a ride on it!
Privacy, or the lack there of , is big issue with almost every married woman, mother, sister, daughter, and friend I’ve ever talked to. It also seems to be a rather vaguely defined issue. I will tell anyone who cares to listen where the line is for me. Where do you end and I begin? The bathroom door. When I am in the powder room to shower or what-ev-er. The closed door is intended to be a metaphysical “do not disturb” sign. And no, I do not care to carry on a conversation from behind that door either.
My two children, a boy and girl, are grown and have long since flown. When they were little, one of the things that would drive me insane is the sudden urgency that developed when they heard the bathroom door quietly click shut. Yea, I would try to sneak in there, you got a problem with that? The little darlings would immediately manufacture a crisis, or develop a burning need to know why leaves are green or where babies come from.
It never occurred to me, when entering into a new life with Mr. Husband a few years back, that I would have to go through the whole process all over again. Evidently he did not master the “leave the woman the hell alone, when the door is closed” concept before I came along in his tender middle age.
This lack of understanding is only compounded by Murphy’s law # 872 – the phone rings at the exact nano second you get in the shower. At our house the following chain of events transpires. I let out a deep contented sigh and step into a nice soothing hot shower. Then I hear a faint knock on the door followed by a cold blast of air.
As the steam clears, I see the husband standing there, phone in hand. He announces, with a look of grave concern and urgency, “the phone if for you.” I state that I don’t care and demand to know why he is standing there without my previous consent or invitation. He dodges the question by countering with “but, it’s your mother” (sister, brother, mailman, the donate a kidney fund.) I usually end up stating through gritted teeth “I don’t care, I’m IN THE EFFIN SHOWER, get out…please”. To which he responds “well fine” and stalks off to mope about it.
Is it just me? Was I out to lunch the day the cosmos announced that’s it is now ok to knock on a door and then barge right in without waiting for a reply? Does this practice now fall in the category of the pseudo polite greeting “hi, how are you” when no one really wants to know?
Been trying to think of some kind of practical joke that would impress on Hub-man to not open closed bathroom doors without the prior consent of the person on the other side of the door. I thought about a bucket of water over the door, but that would probably backfire. He wouldn’t bat an eye if he walked in on me hanging by my toes from the ceiling fan, so that’s just right out.
In the end the solution was so delicious, so delightfully low tech. Why didn’t I think of it years ago? Found an old rubber door stop in the junk drawer. Works like a charm.
Copyright © Serenity Game