I won’t complain this year. I’ll just write about it.
That’s what I said yesterday, before my nine days away from home commenced.
The flights were both on time. I used the three hour layover to write. Chickfila for breakfast was delicious. The guy in front of me on the second flight hadn’t washed his hair in weeks. Smell of sweaty head kept wafting over me. I held my breath.
[This is not complaining. These are the facts.]
At the hotel, my room had a view of the roof. Not a look-down-and-see-a-roof view. The side of the roof completely blocked the view and if I craned my neck and looked up I could see a two foot path of sky. I didn’t complain. I reported and requested a new room and got one. On the 19th floor. Nice.
Until I got there. The key didn’t work. I dragged my bag back down the hot slow elevator and reported the busted key. They gave me two new ones, just in case. Up I went. They didn’t work. I dragged my bags back down the hot slow elevator. They apologized and said a security guy would meet me up there and verify that I wasn’t just an idiot who can’t use a key.
[That’s called paraphrasing. It can also be classified as sarcasm. But it is not complaining.]
Security guy couldn’t get my key to work either, but his worked, so I got into the room where I waited, not unpacking or touching anything, for twenty minutes while they tried to track down a maintenance dude who was more qualified than the security dude to open doors. Maintenance dude also couldn’t get the key to work. They moved me again.
This time they sent a bell hop up with new keys to a new room on the 20th floor. Back to the hot elevator. Bell hop dragged my bag, opened the door and waited for a tip. I gave him a high five and sent him on his way. (Seriously? I have to tip dude number three just for getting me into a room an hour after I checked in?)
On my way out of the 20th floor room to find some dinner, the deadbolt thingy on the door of room number three fell off. Perfect. I brought it down with the THREE screws that fell out to the information desk, where they know me by name, and told them I didn’t break it. The chick laughed and said she’d get it fixed.
I’m not complaining, but wouldn’t you?