I usually sleep dreamlessly, but it was quite balmy last night. In a resultant nightmare, I almost checked into the hotel from The Shining.
If you know me, you'll also know it's entirely possible I'd booked a room without checking the rates. I go to collect my keys, and the severe looking concierge tells me it's $530 for the night. I emit a feeble acknowledgement, stealing a quick glance in the mirror behind her to check if I look as incredulous as I actually am. (To clarify, I'm not on holiday, but thought it would be fun to check into a hotel somewhere for a lark, a mini getaway.) 'Let me just get my bag.' I approach the bellman cart slowly to buy time; still in two minds, I open my wallet—my Visa Avion is gone. (Ahem, now would have been a good time to redeem those points...). Luckily, a pillar obstructs the trolley from the concierge's view, and as she starts talking to another guest, I grab my belongings (yes two suitcases for one night) and make a dash for the side exit. Even in this dire circumstance, I cut a ridiculous figure wrestling two bags and an oversized purse, but at this moment I can ill afford to pretend to be Grace Kelly.
As the twisted illogic of dreamland would have it, either all taxis seem to be occupied and going in the wrong direction, or there's a most ghastly hailstorm out, but following a series of incidents of increasing jeopardy, I find myself back at the hotel. I'm probably here to retrieve something. I dread leaving personal effects behind in public places, and of late have developed a nervous habit of double-checking subway seats, my gym locker, cash registers at stores, the compartment in my bag that houses my keys...
Out of the corner of her eye, the concierge spots a flash of my sea green vinyl suitcase, (I am the owner of such an item, yes) and springs into action, warning me as she strides purposefully across the lobby that now the said room is $880! I suppose they're overbooked—is this the busiest day of the year for you? Are you hosting The Annual Convention of (and For) Disturbed Sleepers (TACoDS)? ‘Disturbed’ referring to the sleep and not the sleeper, of course.
The woman does not follow me out of the building and across the street. She stands in the entranceway, mumbling something about not having a choice but to call the authorities. I am overcome by a sinking feeling reminiscent of the Thelma and Louise ending that this is it, the point of no return, the moment we defy all odds and take control of our destiny…
Well, not quite as memorable and iconic, but I vaguely remember wondering just as I came to, how I would look in my mug shot—and whether I'd be charged under the amended section 252 of the criminal code for 'failure to remain at the scene and check into a hotel room'.
