I checked into a hotel this afternoon. It was dubbed "acceptable" by a colleague who had stayed here. Well, it's in an old building which can be very cool. Or not.
It started okay in the lobby, but then I got into the pint-sized elevator. If B.O. were a person he would have been breathing down my neck. I was soo glad I my room was on the second floor.
Things went downhill when I realized my room branched off the fire staircase, and if I stretched out my arms I could just about touch opposite walls. The bathroom was, well, it was a bathcubby.
All in all, the room looked like the kind of place you get abducted from.
At that point I started actively looking for a good reason to not stay in the room.
And then I found it. Hairs on the pillow case. I have never been so excited to find evidence of dirty sheets.
Needless to say, I picked up the grubby phone, held it slightly away from my body, and called the front desk. The desk manager instantly agreed to move me to a new room. Who knew short hall could make such a difference? Mere steps away was a room that looked like, well, a hotel room. It had a real desk, a queen bed, a bathroom that you can stand in and still have room to shut the door, and no hair pillows!
For the first and perhaps only time, I'm grateful for foreign hairs on a pillow, because now instead of blocking the door with a chair to keep the abductors out and trying to sleep without touching anything, I can actually rest.