Hotel Life

Rumour has it, eleven days ago was a Thursday. That day, I checked into a hotel in the city in which one of my best friends would be getting married, two days later. I was a groomsman in the wedding.

If you are here looking for a full play-by-play of the wedding, that is not my story to tell. Just know, it was a beautiful day, with beautiful people, and a beautiful breeze. Oh, and beautiful food, of course. I could do a full dissertation on the food, from breakfast to dinner.

This post is about my (four days and three nights) stay at the hotel, though.

But first, you should know that the groom and I met in university, while living on the same floor in residence. The third floor.

I check into the hotel and what floor do they put me on? The third floor. Of course. Without knowing it was going to happen, I knew it was going to happen. It had to be this way.

It would have been a bit creepy if they put me in the same room number as I was in all those years ago, right? Well…they were off by eight rooms. Whatever. I am not keeping track.

As soon as I checked in, it felt like I had abandoned the Gregorian Calendar and started using my own.

Behold, the Paulorian Calendar. We can work on the name.

Paultober?

It is a simple four-day calendar, with a wedding on the third day. Nothing too drastic. There is no hump day because why have unnecessary obstacles?

Thursday had become Day 1, in my head. Friday was Day 2, and so on.

I entered my room on the third floor of the hotel that shall not be named. The thermostat was set to a brisk 19 degrees Celsius, which I will come back to. There is a lot of unpacking to do with that.

Speaking of unpacking, I put my bags down and immediately felt disoriented.

There’s the bed. There’s the couch. There’s the desk. There’s the TV. There’s the fridge. There’s the washroom. There’s me. There’s the mirror. There’s me in the mirror. What do I do now?

It almost felt like I had entered an escape room. Am I supposed to look underneath the garbage can to find a key, that will let me open a drawer, and read a clue?

No! You’re supposed to settle. Sit. Go to the washroom. Look out the window. Settle. Sit. Something.

It’s been a few years since I’ve stayed at a hotel. Also, this was my first time staying at a hotel by myself. In many ways, I felt like an untrained puppy, even though I knew how to chase my tail. Know what I’m saying?

Everything in me wanted to fall right back into “residence mode” from university. Except, everything was already moved in. It’s there. You don’t have to hook up the TV, plug in the mini fridge, or put sheets on the bed.

It took me until Day 2 to finally feel less disoriented in the room. I can’t put my finger on what it was. I just felt lost in there.

You know what it might’ve been? The message on the TV that greeted me upon arrival.

The TV said: “Good afternoon, Matthews”.

That is not me. My name is Paul. It has one syllable. Feel free to clap it out. I don’t know who Matthews is, except Auston Matthews on the Toronto Maple Leafs, or Cory Matthews from Boy Meets World.

Because I was paranoid I was in someone else’s room, the front desk reassured me that I was in the right place and it was probably just the name of the guest who had my room before me.

So, there you have it. Auston Matthews had my hotel room before me.

Let’s talk temperature. The 19 degrees the hotel had set the room at was a bit frigid. Over the course of my stay, I had the room at 20 or 21.

As I went to sleep that first night, I turned off the thermostat. I thought the room would be comfortable enough. Plus, when the air conditioning was on, it made a lot of noise.

One of those noises where you yell from the bed, “Keep it down, I’m trying to sleep!”

After ten minutes of thinking I could enjoy a nice, quiet sleep, the room was warming up faster than an oven. I had no choice. I had to turn the air conditioning on. I had to set the room to 20.

That thing went on and off, every ten minutes. Make up your mind! Each time it came on it sounded louder than the last. Then I set the room to 21, thinking it would stretch out the on/off intervals long enough for me to fall asleep. It did not.

I put it back to 20. On and off all night. You know how the staircase likes to make a million loud noises when you’re trying to walk upstairs when everyone else is asleep? That was this AC system. No regard for the sleepy.

Remember when I joked that I was in an escape room? Maybe I wasn’t so far off.

All of a sudden, my room starts getting lighter. I look at the clock and it is 6AM.

Well, cock-a-doodle-doo, if it isn’t morning. At this point, I have slept for a grand total of zero minutes and zero seconds. Was I listening to music on my iPod Nano for too long? Did it keep my brain waves too active?

Or was I just really annoyed by the constant start and stop of the air conditioning?

Or, shall we look behind Door #3?

Yeah! Let’s do that, Paul! Yeah! Door #3! Door #3!

The bed.

I love me a good nap. A good sleep. A good snoozeroo under the ol’ blankeroo.

The bed was immaculate. It was a King size bed. I have never slept in a bed that big before. I could spin around like a Lazy Susan on that bed, yet no matter which way I was facing, my entire body would still be on the bed.

I felt like I was sleeping in an empty parking lot. Could’ve used a zip line to reach the side table, though.

Now, if I had a small, little, minor, teensy weensy gripe, it would be all the layers of bedding.

There was a sheet. There was a comforter. And then there was a blanket on top.

Layers are for tiramisu and lasagna, not for beds in July. (Yes, even on the 4-day Paulorian Calendar).

What are we doing here?

One thing you should know about me is that I am not a comforter person. Don’t need it. Don’t want to see it. Don’t even want to say the word, “comforter” because it’s the ultimate oxymoron.

I never sleep with a comforter.

I understand it’s a hotel and this is the bed’s official uniform. Fine. I get it. This is the way it is. I thought I would be able to tolerate it. I could not.

I was cookin’. Break an egg on my forehead and cook yourself an omelet.

The decision was made to remove the blanket and comforter from the bed. However, they were neatly tucked into this gargantuan-sized bed and I didn’t just want to rip them out and throw them on the couch.

By the way, the couch was the overnight home to three of the four pillows that were provided. I only have one head, I don’t have a use for four pillows. Was I supposed to bounce back and forth like I was playing four square? I think not! So, they slept on the couch.

I wasn’t going to give the housekeepers the task of re-tucking the comforter and blanket. So, instead of making a mess, I rolled the comforter and blanket down (while still tucked) and hung them over the couch and ottoman next to the bed.

That way, they wouldn’t be on me, and they wouldn’t be on the floor. The next morning, I would just pull them back up, no problem.

The room looked like I was creating a blanket fort paradise, but really I was just trying not to turn into a roasted chicken.

So, it was just me and a sheet. And yet, it was 6AM and I still hadn’t fallen asleep.

By the time I officially “got up” for Day 2, I think I slept for about 30 minutes.

A lesson I’ve learned in life is nothing ever goes the way you expect. This whole time, leading up to my stay at the hotel, I was worried I’d fall asleep for 14 hours and not wake up because it’s a King size bed and I’d just be too comfortable.

My mind was so far down the path of, “You’re not going to hear the alarm, knocks at the door, or calls to your phone. The bed will just be too good to wake up from.”

Well, you don’t have to wake up if you never fall asleep, I guess.

I will say that the night before the wedding, I logged a solid seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. It was great. As for my final night, I slept for about four hours.

If you’re keeping score at home, I slept for 11.5 hours over the course of three nights. That still doesn’t change my opinion on the bed, however. It was great. Comfortable. Spacious. A zip line ride away from the nearest side table. The extra layers were dealt with.

No complaints. I just couldn’t sleep.

I mentioned the couch and ottoman earlier.

Okay, I wish I could’ve taken both of them home. They were the type of couch and ottoman set you see on The Price is Right, but would actually want. I only had the chance to really enjoy sitting on them for the first night, as I tried to watch the NHL Draft.

That’s my one regret – that I didn’t have more quality sitting time with them.

I should mention that there was a pre-existing stain on the ottoman, which I’ve tried very hard not to think about.

Oh, there was also a nice, little, side table next to the couch. It could hold a water bottle, cellphone, or footlong sub (I assume).

The view outside my window was none other than that of a car dealership. Specifically, the part where they wash the cars. I woke up one morning, looked out the window, saw a car exit the car wash, and life was good.

You can keep your chirping birds and pretty sunrises. Give me glistening cars squinting at the sun at 7:43AM.

What else, what else.

Okay, let’s get to the washroom.

I couldn’t get over the fact that the bar of soap looked like someone had chopped a piece of mozzarella cheese off of a big block. It had the knife grooves in it and everything.

They mysteriously took the soap away on Day 3. Perhaps, they realized I had brought my own, or they knew I saw it as a piece of mozzarella cheese and took it away because you shouldn’t leave cheese out that long.

Imagine. The housekeeper and I are both in on this mozzarella cheese/soap bar gag that only exists inside our minds. The telepathy required to pull that off…woof.

But the thing that really stood out from the washroom was the Kleenex box.

It took me until Day 4 to realize that the black “dispenser” with tissues coming out of it, was not actually attached to the counter. It could move. Not only that, but the hard black shell could be lifted away, revealing a Kleenex box underneath.

It was like every Santa Claus reveal in every Christmas movie. Oh, that’s not Santa? It’s Tim Allen? What!?

I was hoodwinked.

The whole time, I thought that dispenser was attached to the counter and tissues were fed to it from a vault underneath the sink, even though if you looked under the sink, there was nothing there. That didn’t squash my theory, though.

Pirates hide their treasures in plain sight all the time. Have you even watched Outer Banks? Maybe this was the same thing. A state-of-the-art hotel illusion.

Nope. It was all a lie. It was just a Kleenex box in sheep’s clothing.

Am I the only forward-thinker here? It’s time for a vault of tissues beneath the sink that feed out of a dispenser. It’s 2022. If not now, when? If not hotels, who?

All jokes aside, I very much enjoyed my stay at this hotel that shall not be named.

I did find a thick layer of dust on the lightbulbs in the lamps next to the bed, though. I cleaned them because I don’t need to start a fire because a lightbulb overheats. The hotel owes me on that one.

I can see it now: “Thank you, Fire Marshal Matthews”.

I had fun. It was a good weekend. It was good to see friends I haven’t seen in a long time. It felt like a mini vacation for me.

You should know that since returning home, I have gone back to the Gregorian Calendar. I have also recouped all the sleep I didn’t get while laying in a very comfortable King size bed.

I realize I probably don’t need to capitalize the “K” in King size bed, but I think it deserves it.

As for mozzarella cheese, I keep thinking of it as a bar of soap. Ask me again in a few weeks.

Thank you for reading about my hotel experience. Hopefully, you enjoyed it!

Sleep tight…in loose-fitted clothing and ditch the layers.

Goodnight.

Have any questions about my hotel stay? Do you have any hotel stories of your own to share? Do you sleep with a comforter? Let me know.

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