This Morning I Locked Myself Out of Our Hotel Room

And I was still pajama’ed up.

My “Chiops (Gotta eat ’em!)” shirt was 80s-ly hanging off one shoulder and my bottom half was clad in Holiday Snoopy shorts that I think are actually men’s boxers.

My hair was an uncontrollable ocean of swooshes and waves. 

I was NOT looking presentable to the public. 

I stepped out the door to put our trash outside.

See, since we’re in a pandemic, hotel maid service is not daily. Which I kind of prefer for this long term stay situation. 

If I would have to be out of the room for a set amount of time every day and I had no control over when that would happen, I would never ever be able to relax. 

I’d always be waiting for “the knock”. You know, the one that means get out of the room so we can clean up all of your grossness and then I can just go back to my slob hole when you are done. 

Not that this hotel room is in bad shape at all. We make the bed every day. We brought our own towels that I wash when I do the laundry, Look, we are towel spoiled. We lucked out one time at Bed, Bath and Beyond and found, like, a $150 mega luxury towel in the clearance section for about $20. You bet your ass I snatched that thing up and NEVER use anything else. And then, of course, I had to get Mickey a similarly sized mega towel so he didn’t feel left out. 

I just wish I had one of those elementary school zippy floor sweeper thingies that I could run over the carpet to get rid of all my nacho crumbs. But I do not, so if they get too bad I pick them up with my fingers. 

Tomorrow, Mickey has the day off and we’re gonna go explore Ann Arbor, which apparently has the most used bookstores per capita of any city in America. 

When we move into the Professor House, there is a thing I want to do where I have many copies over and over of the same book, so that I can give them out whenever I recommend it to someone. 

It is the same as I do now, but now I will have backups when I give away my personal copy of my favorite book ever. I will have at least three shelves like this. Probably 4, but the 4th will be comprised of this copy of Robert Frost that I keep buying. And keep keeping. 

 

I dunno, there is something really pleasing to my brain about having the same book over and over. I think it’s gonna be cool to look at. And if it’s not, I’ll change it up and put something else there. No biggie. 

Also, we just love used bookstores. I think they are like true treasure hunts and I never leave disappointed. 

But I guess I told you about us going to Ann Arbor because that is when I will allow the maid into our chambers. And then they will get to wrestle with my weighted blanket (actually probably not, I will fold it away neatly so they don’t have to worry about it.)

Ok, so this morning, there I am in my pajamas with sleepy eyes and sleepy hairs. 

I was in the process of doing a morning cleanup, putting all of our cans in a bag and setting those outside the door. 

Then I decided I should do the same thing to the trash, so I bag it up and then spill some on the floor accidentally, because of course I do.

So by the time I’m ready to set this bag of trash outside the door, I’m a little flustered. 

And it’s cold, so I’m on alert, if you know what I mean. 

It was only meant to be a quick in and out and then back to workin’ (and then laundry eventually). 

Except, I let the door close. 

Now, normally, in the middle of the week, this hotel is pretty empty. 

But apparently, there is some sort of conference or something going on because the halls are filled with three-piece suits. And I guess meat sacks inside of them also. 

It was the aggressive display of suitage that frightened me though. Why were they here and what were they talking about so early in the morning? 

It really worked in my favor that our room is right next to the boardroom and I think they were on a break so, they were like ants after I drop a sour skittle – EVERYWHERE. 

So I slap walk down the hall into the lobby (I only have my holographic slides on, real classy) and encounter MORE SUITS and, instead of the people I’ve been nodding to the entire week, I see a stranger at the front desk. 

So I had to prove who I was. 

In my pajamas. 

Luckily, I know how to spell Mickey’s last name.

Unluckily, time means legitimately nothing to me anymore. 

So when the stranger of a front desk person asked me how long we’d been occupying room 107, I said… um, since Monday or Tuesday, I think? 

(I still don’t know which is the right answer.)

This did not convince them, so I had to do another round of questions. 

It was at this time that my brain was flying all over the place trying to figure out what I would do for about 8 hours until Mickey got home. 

“Home.”

I didn’t have my phone, I didn’t have anything but the clothes on my body and the trash I left in the hall and I couldn’t do much with that, so I HAD to get these next questions right. 

Her next question, “Where do you live?”

Um… here?

Like, my brain froze up. I didn’t know how to answer that question, because the correct answer is here. Right now, until we close on the Professor House, I live in the hotel room I’m currently locked out of. 

So my autistic brain tried to unravel what she was really asking, which is, I guess, what Mickey’s license says. And I said, “Florida, Orlando-“

BUT WHEN I DO THIS IT ITCHES MY BRAIN IN THE BAD WAY. 

Like, my brain alarms are going off full volume, “you did not answer the question they asked. you are offering incorrect information and you should hurry and and correct yourself before the universe catches you-“

I should mention that I’ve trained my brain alarm to be kind of monotone, because if I didn’t I think my heart would beat outta my chest a lot of the time. 

So, I blurted out, “But we don’t live there anymore, we’re here until-“

AND THEY INTERRUPTED ME. They didn’t have the patience for me to finish my sentence. 

“What brings you to our hotel today?”

“Well, my partner got a new job and we found an incredible house and we had to stay somewhere until the house is ready.”

Their face looked so impatient that I couldn’t stop rambling. 

There was no one else in line, the phone wasn’t ringing and the suits were back in the corral, so I don’t know why I felt like such an imposition, but I did. 

“Where are they working?”

I said the name of the company and the front desk person, like, corrected me. I said the “i”-sound in the word wrong I guess? I can’t even remember how they pronounced it snottily back to me because it sounded THAT wrong to my brain, so I rejected it.

But now I’m worried that they were correct and I will continue to pronounce this word wrong until I die. 

I guess by this time I answered everything rightly enough to appease them, because I got this lesser ass trash key of embarrassment to let me back into my current house. 

 

(Mickey travelled a LOT the past year or so, so he has elite status at the chain we’re currently staying and that means, like, a fancy heavy key or something.)

No bathtub, though. 

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