Many of you will be traveling over this Thanksgiving weekend.
Meanwhile, I’ll be stuffing my pie hole with, well, pie I guess since I don’t eat turkey.
But I did travel last week, and while I sent you a scintillating story about my hotel room’s light switch, I did not blather in this blog about my bathtub in my other hotel room. It was something special, and something I did not expect from a Super 8. Take a look …
Whaddya’ mean it’s just a bathtub? Take a closer look …
That’s right, a whirlpool bathtub. Now to enjoy a nice whirlpool bath, I would have to sit in a bathtub at a Super 8 hotel that other people have showered in or bathed in or tinkled in. I contemplated this for a while. The tub looked very clean, but I rinsed it down again before I filled it. It looked clean enough for the likes of me.
To avoid an overflow when I settled my over-sized body into the water, I filled it well short of full. The tub seemed to groan as I lowered myself into it, but I should have known that was just me reflexively groaning at any sign of exertion or movement.
My hands seemed to be sweaty as I readied myself to push the whirlpool button, but they were just dripping with bath water. I trembled with anticipation as my finger got closer and closer to the whirlpool button. I was ready for soothing streams of water bombarding my weary body (or streams of filthy water that had been sitting in the pipes for months since nobody is stupid enough to use a whirlpool tub at a Super 8) as I depressed the whirlpool button. Again. And again. Over and over. Of course, it was a pull switch, not a pushbutton. Nope. Whirlpool denied. But the water was warm and felt good. I splashed a bit and made some bubbles of my own.
Fun’s fun, but as a captain of industry, I had to get to work. I drained the tub and took a very thorough shower. VERY thorough. So far, no infections to report from my bathing adventure. If any arise, you’ll be the first to know.