A couple of nights ago, I was sitting on a king-sized bed, with my legs stretched out in front of me. The disproportionately small TV opposite the bed almost made me smile, but the outline of previous décor on the walls did. I was in a hotel by the airport for an early flight out to visit my sister in California. Oh, I now have two sisters in California, this one would be Betty. Alice and David were driving down from northern California to visit as well. For logistical reasons, Beth and Drew drove me up last night to my hotel, the hotel that was the catalyst for dusting off my blog.
Who knows how many remodels this hotel has undergone, but it’s not its first rodeo from my observations. The heating and cooling seemed to have worked well (thank goodness), the bathroom seemed relatively clean (thank goodness), and there were no bedbugs (a really big thank goodness!)…all was good. But after a little time watching the disproportionate TV that night, I set my alarm for 4:50 AM and begin the following schedule for that night: a few hours of sleep, pee time, eavesdropping on hallway chatter (that may have awoken me in the first place), temperature adjustment, and back to slumber land…repeat. And the constant glow of light washing in around the curtains all night, lead me to believe that the sun set in the parking lot and waited there for it’s cue to rise the next morning.
Besides some really well worn furniture distributed about the room, there was what appeared to be wood trim that caught my eye. It was really narrow and placed about 18 inches down from the ceiling. Where one piece ended and another began, they sometimes didn’t match up. But like I said, the temperature was comfortable and the HVAC unit was a good white noise machine when the hallway activity picked up, I was able to clean up, and I felt relatively safe throughout the night. And I focused on that, as I imagined the poor guy that was responsible for the trim, cause surely a woman wouldn’t have done that!
My alarm did sound early Thursday morning and in order for me to be at my airport shuttle location 10 minutes before the scheduled departure time of 5:30 AM, I needed to hit the continental breakfast bar right at 5:00. As a lover of breakfast, I headed down to get my fill. I spotted the rotating waffle maker when I checked in the previous night and am normally a fan. But as I rounded the corner, past the front desk, where no one was to be seen, I saw a sign that was perched on the counter where I thought I would be checking out, and it said, “Will be right back, running the shuttle to the airport.” I dismissed that whole thought and headed for the corner where the waffle maker was strategically placed next to the waffle batter container and the syrup dispenser.
Right after I loaded the waffle iron with batter and rotated it 180 degrees to begin cooking, I made a quick survey of my breakfast options. I got my orange juice, scoped out the cereal situation, and scanned the expiration dates on the yogurt located in the “Red Bull” fridge. I was so glad to be distracted by the alarm sounding on the waffle maker, it took the edge off the fact the syrup dispenser was running dangerously close to being out of syrup for my waffle, let alone the next poor individual in search of a waffle to start their day. I’m not sure why, but my waffle was not a stand out moment, as the sun was preparing to move from just outside the window of my room (remember it seemed so bright to me in my room all night?), to just below the horizon, as it was preparing to rise on the day ahead. After finishing up a lack luster waffle experience, I downed a bowl of Frosted Flakes (never a disappointment), grabbed a couple of apples for the flight, and headed back upstairs to brush my teeth, and prepare for my transfer to the airline terminal.
Passing by the front desk, I laid my room key cards by the computer keyboard where I had been checked in the previous night, just down from the shuttle sign. I thought a safe place to wait would be by the front door. Since there was no one around to ask, I positioned myself there with my suitcase and began to wait. There was an older model, white minivan parked out front with its lights on and faded hotel airport shuttle signage on the passenger door. In the continental breakfast room, which was steps away from where I was standing, there was a man and woman scrambling around for coffee. They didn’t seem to have anything to do with one another and finally the woman looked up, smiled, and said, “Shuttle?” I nodded. She continued, “I’ll be right with ya.”
She left the breakfast room, slipped around the corner to appear behind the front desk long enough to do something I could not see below the counter and then reappeared walking toward me. She had not missed many meals and had an intense amount of makeup on. I followed her out to the minivan, where she opened the back hatch for me to place my suitcase. She said I was welcome to ride shotgun, so I did. Maybe it was the makeup talking, but I felt like I was directed to sit up front rather than it being an option.
She eased out of the parking lot as I clicked my seatbelt in (she never did) and soon enough the minivan felt as though we were floating on water as if the springs or shocks or both were a little loosey goosey. I tried to make small talk, but soon she was sharing this was something new…”this shuttle thing.” And at that moment I became more focused on getting to my destination in my own mind. Other sounds and vibrations coming from beneath my seat, at highway speed, lasered that focus as I innocently questioned her on how we were going to get to where I wanted to be. With the construction of the new terminal, there were many lane changes and the redirection of traffic from normal. She successfully navigated us to terminal C for the first leg of my United flight to California, but continued to drive right by where I assumed I would be dropped off. I thought maybe she knew something I didn’t. Was I being kidnapped? As I began to speak up, she vocalized her mistake at the same time and headed out to circle back around. In the mean time she said all her shuttle runs that morning were to different airlines and she hadn’t been to United yet. In my mind I thought, “So?” But out loud I said, “It must be hard to keep them all straight.”
Second time was a charm. She pulled over right in front of the United check-in counters, inside the terminal, parked the car, and we met at the back of the minivan once again. She opened the hatch and I reached in to retrieve my suitcase. I slipped her a few dollars and as I briskly walked toward the terminal doors with some relief, I realized I had tipped her for all the work I’d done loading and unloading my own suitcase. I chose to think of it to cover the extra gas for the second attempt at getting me to my hotel transfer destination. All’s well that ends well. Betty, here I come…finally!
My Zen from the Road: As Beth and I were looking at hotels for me to stay at a few days earlier, I couldn’t believe how many there were to choose from. Some were more expensive, some less. I’d never paid that much attention to them on previous trips to the airport. My nine hour visit in this hotel was filled with raised eyebrows, double-take observations, and in the end as I was walking through airline security, I kept thinking about the advice I’d give whoever owned or was responsible for my hotel…if you are going to compete, at least try.
