Living in a hotel is a life that I never thought I would have. Mainly because living at a hotel is not an option unless you’re in a really bad movie or are beatnik enough to be at The Hotel Chelsea. By the way, I’m utterly un-beatnik-like.
In any case, here I am living in a super fancy hotel. Sarah and I joke because if we happen to wear a t-shirt to a meal, we are automatically the worst-dressed people in the hotel. The other guests are generally dressed to the nines. I’m dressed to the 3 2/3 on a good day.
One of my great trials (seriously, I have no worries or issues here. Everything is provided and done for me), is dealing with the awkwardness of room service. Our room is a suite, so we have a bedroom and a living room. My rumba with room service begins with opening the door before they use their all-access cards to get in. From there, I casually (read: awkwardly) scamper to my Kindle to read in the living room. When he comes in the living room, I happen to feel the overwhelming need to fold my clothes in my suitcase in the bedroom. He moves through the bedroom, I decide to read again. And back and forth, so on and so forth.
Having been here nearly a month, we are now part of the inner sanctum of room service offerings. These three things occurred today, and prove to me that The Hubs and I have finally “arrived”:
1. We were given three bottles of water. Generally it is a one bottle offering for each day. After a small tip, two bottles will sometimes start appearing. But today my friends, today, we were given THREE bottles of water. The Hydration Gods have looked down upon us in favor, and thus my room service fellows have responded.
2. My bathroom smelled of disinfectant. I recognize that the floor is wet whenever the room is cleaned, but never before had it smelled as though a cleaning agent had become acquainted with the tiles. Today though, they communed in a way that they never have before. My illusion was broken when I glimpsed the feculent mop that was used in this process. I choose to believe, however, that the mop was newly purchased and the initial color was detailed as rat-fur brown.
3. The coup de grâce that finalizes, beyond compare, the fact that we have found ourselves in the good graces of the legion of room servicers is this: The vacuum. Yes, that life changing invention of the 1860s has led me to the euphoric conclusion that The Hubs and I have been accepted by room service. The floor in our room is tile, though there are rugs near the bed and under the coffee table. These rugs have always had a collection of detritus from passed guests, thus enacting the policy that my feet never touch anything but my slippers. Today however, they were giving a thorough Hoovering.
And the cool 500 Naira tip I gave was freely given in the hope to stay in the suite life.