In a reversal of the ‘no room at the inn’ motif, My Guy and I booked ourselves into a hotel for the family weekend gathering in New Jersey (which was fabulous, by the way). We usually do anyway when visiting daughter and family, not being big fans of fold-out couches. Plus, since my kind daughter was already finding beds for our son, his wife, twin daughters, and girlfriend of grandson #2, they were pretty much full up.
We chose a hotel not far away where we’ve
stayed before, at a high-end chain that would have been unthinkable in our
Motel 6 youth.
The lobby was so stripped down I
wondered at first if they were in the process of renovation. But, no, the room
was the same – not even towel racks in the bathroom.
And I’m now resigned to the disappearance
of the good old days with offerings of shower caps and lotion in the bathrooms,
and sometimes even tiny sewing kits. Now we’re down to one small bar of soap
and squirt bottles in the shower for bath gel, shampoo, and conditioner. (And
it’s wise to put on your glasses beforehand to determine which is which.)
The shower itself looked promising
until I realized that the valve transferring water from the tub faucet up to
the shower head was stuck halfway, creating a flood at my feet and a so-so
trickle from above.
My Guy’s first midnight run inserted a
storyline of a tortured dog into my dreams until I realized that the bathroom
door’s hinges were the cause, sounding like the beginning of Tales from the
Crypt.
To the hotel’s credit, they sent me a chirpy text asking if we’d settled in and were happy. I’ve never complained about a room before, but this time I thought, “Why not?” and explained the issues. When we returned Saturday evening, no squeak and no leaking valve. Yay.
Except, short of bringing in some
drywall, nothing could be done about the
connecting metal door to the neighboring
room.
At 10:00 pm, lying in bed, I could hear almost word for word the
conversation of the couple behind the door.
