Hotel Hell

I headed out the other day on another business trip. As I drove southwest on a beautiful early fall afternoon, I rolled down the windows and enjoyed the feeling of the warm sun on my skin and the wind blowing through my hair … on my arms. I couldn’t help notice that as the sun illuminated my arm hair, it glistened with a reddish hue. Being part Irish, having reddish hair shouldn’t be unexpected, but I hadn’t noticed it before. That was disconcerting, but not as distressing as seeing this when I checked into my hotel room that evening …

Ah, the old sitting room whirlpool tub feature … complete with carpet and mirrors next to the tub. No thanks. I have no interest in seeing my chubby body soaking the carpet as I step in and out of the tub.

I did appreciate this nice amenity …

It makes me want to wear more make-up so I can take advantage of this nice freebie. As I get older, I think that more make-up may be a good option and can only help my deteriorating condition.

Finally, I do not like to have to reach anywhere that I cannot see clearly near a hotel toilet. I know there is a flush handle hiding somewhere in this general area …

It was with great trepidation that I reached under there to flush, but the option of not blindly flushing was not one I wanted to consider.

Since it was only one night in Hotel Hell, maybe it is better described, although not as alliteratively, as Hotel Purgatory.