No Kingdom, No Magic (Part II)

In Part I, we managed to travel 1500 miles or so in the space of about 700 words; I’ll warn you ahead of time that our mileage is going to vary from here on out (and not in the direction of economy).

When I left off, I was traversing the entirety of Central Florida in a taxi…

Finally, about 45 minutes out from the airport and with the meter showing $55.75, we pull up to the hotel. I get my luggage first, then hand the driver $61 – knowing this falls well short of a 15% tip, but also mindful that I have to keep something in my wallet for the rest of the trip. I say thanks and walk away quickly, thus forfeiting the opportunity to learn a few interesting words in some obscure dialect. I head into the hotel…

…Or at least “toward” the hotel. The front door is locked and although I can see the front desk there’s no one in sight. I have to pick up the intercom phone and get buzzed in. I go to the desk to check in, slide my credit card under the security barrier that’s drawn across the counter and get myself checked in (making certain to request the $4.99 “unlimited Internet access for the length of your stay”), then head wearily down the hall.

The growing unsettled feeling I’ve been experiencing suddenly snaps into place as the realization dawns: other places that could be described as Extended Stay are hospitals, nursing homes, and minimum-security prisons, which is in fact the vibe I’ve been trying to put my finger on.

Inside the door I discover that what makes this a “suite” is that the foyer has been replaced by a sink, refrigerator and 2 burners. Oh, and the cupboards contain a few pots & pans, dishes, and silverware obviously salvaged from the nearest yard sale. Other than that, you’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference from your basic Motel 6 or TraveLodge.

OK, I admit I’m disappointed at the absence of “deluxe”, but it’s late, I’m tired, and the TV works fine (not one but 4 ESPNs!), so I make a quick call to my wife and then head off to the shower.

The hotel industry for many years scammed us, or at least me, into feeling pampered to find toiletries and perhaps even a little package of coffee in our rooms. Some even had (gasp!) blow dryers, and you could call the front desk to get a toothbrush if Homeland Security stole yours during baggage screening. Then I, at least, stopped to consider that even if you’re paying as little as $60 a night (our frugal, corporate-bean-counter-appeasing rate on this trip) that’s the equivalent of $1800 a month for basically staying in a stranger’s guest room – and hoping he really washed his sheets since the last guest left. So when you get down to it, we probably shouldn’t be excessively grateful that they provide 49 cents’ worth of shampoo, even if it is laden with fruits and botanicals.

So I leave my glasses on the desk and head for the bathroom. At first I’m having difficulty locating the shampoo, so I assume it’s just my eyesight. Frankly I’m not a sure bet to locate the shower without my glasses unless there’s a pretty strong light… so I retrieve them and conduct a more thorough search of the premises.

Though I don’t find any shampoo, I do find a card that says toiletries may be obtained at the front desk – but my fully-corrected vision (well, almost) allows me to read the fine print which reads: “At selected locations”. I’m getting the feeling this is a location that isn’t selected for anything save perhaps the Witness Protection Program.

I note further on the card, incidentally, that since this is an Extended Stay Hotel, I will also have an Extended Wait for housekeeping; they don’t show up till day 7... unless you pay extra.

Well, it’s close to midnight and I have to be presentable for a meeting first thing in the morning, so there’s no alternative but to “shampoo” with a deodorant soap bar about the size of a credit card. At least I don’t have to worry about my scents clashing – and I suppose almonds and honey can stand in for fruits and botanicals.

Out of the shower and at least fresher than my post-air-travel/interminable-cab-ride self, I decide to pop on the Internet just for a sec. Note: this has everything in the world to do with the desire to catch up on important e-mails, and to maximize the value of my $4.99 expenditure, and is not related in any way to my fantasy baseball team. Or… my other fantasy baseball team.

I’m met with a login screen that requests a password and I realize that the desk clerk didn’t say anything about a password; there will be no Internet tonight. Nothing left to do but go to bed.

At home, I’m generally pretty good about getting to sleep – many nights it’s a race to hit the pillow while still conscious – however, I am susceptible to random background noise and stray beams of light. And since the word “hotel” is actually taken from the Old French meaning “random background noise and stray beams of light”, I lie awake and restless (I believe this is where I’m supposed to use the word “enervated”) for some while. Finally I give up and shove in my earplugs, which I’ve left out in an effort to ensure hearing the alarm, and drift into fitful slumber. But not before realizing the gibberish the desk clerk scribbled on the keycard sleeve must be the Internet access password; I briefly consider getting up but I’m exhausted and I don’t want to be The Guy Who Gets Out of Bed in the Middle of the Night to Surf the Web, so I finally surrender to my weariness.

I wouldn’t be surprised if a reader had roughly the same reaction (enervated, anyone?), so let’s all take a break here and marshal our strength for the big finish… next time, I promise.