I love traveling. OK, truthfully, I used to love traveling. Now I think I’m more in love with the idea of traveling. As I wrote in a prior post, air travel isn’t much fun anymore and the last thing I need since my Brachytherapy is a cavity search when I set off the radiation detectors.
Regardless, I still like checking into a great four of five star hotel. You need to realize that my definition of roughing it has changed over the years. Now roughing it is staying at a Holiday Inn.
I’m not one of those people who relishes the idea of camping in the back woods, pitching and living in my tent no matter the weather, cooking over an open fire all the time, digging a hole for a latrine, or worse, squatting over a tree trunk just to find out the tickle you felt was the dreaded poison ivy! No siree not for me.
I look forward to opening the door to the hotel room, finding the room spotless, all the necessary accoutrements are there, the separate tub and shower, the fluffy bath robes, and the nightly turn down service with the extra high quality chocolate on the pillow.
A call to the Concierge or Front Desk handles any small problem you may have with the room. Forgot your shaving kit, no problem. One call and a kit is delivered. Don’t like the pillows, no problem, one call and the pillows are changed. The TV doesn’t work, no problem, just call down and…OK sometimes this one doesn’t get fixed quite so fast but you get my drift.
You’ve now had a chance to check out the room, maybe do some touristy things, and you wander back to the room for some R&R. Just about then, Mother Nature comes calling so you grab your book and head to the “Reading Room”. (Don’t tell me you all haven’t done it.) You enjoy some alone time.
And then it happens! You reach for the toilet tissue and you are greeted with one of two scenarios.
The first scenario is that the tissue is so thin you can see through it, it comes apart in your hands, and you need to bunch up about a quarter of a roll to get enough so you feel safe taking the appropriate actions. And, as sure a there are little green apples, it still comes apart! Now you have another problem!
You finally finish the necessary ablutions, flush the toilet, and lo and behold, you’ve had to use so much tissue the toilet plugs. Now I don’t know about you but I’ve never been in a hotel room that comes equipped with a plunger in the bathroom. If it did, I may question whether I’m in a five star hotel or my buddy’s basement bathroom.
So now you have to make that one call to Housekeeping which may go something like this:
“This is Housekeeping, how may I help you Mr. Armstrong?”
You are now faced with two choices. Choice number one, come clean (so to speak) and truthfully say, “I’m sorry but I seemed to have plugged the toilet. Would you send someone up to unplug it please.” This is akin to having your gym shorts pulled down at a school assembly.
“No problem sir, we’ll send someone up.”
Or, you say, “Would you mind sending someone up to my room. The guest who was here before me seems to have plugged the toilet.”
Whereupon Housekeeping says to you, “Of course Mr. Armstrong, we’ll send someone right up,” hangs up, and says to a work mate, “The guy in room 1558 plugged the toilet and blamed the last guest. Can you believe it?”
Scenario number two is, you reach for the toilet tissue and find that it has the texture of a fine gossip magazine or the old Sears catalogue. Now I know from whence I speak on the Sears catalogue. Where I grew up and until I was six years old, the outhouse and the Sears catalogue were mainstays of our existence. Friends and relatives still used them long after that time.
Using this type of tissue is like watching water try to bead on a window that has been sprayed with silicone. No matter how hard you try, it just won’t stick. Now you need to use a quarter of the roll to accomplish the deed a few short sheets from the top grade tissue you use at home would do. Then, you have to make the call to Housekeeping!
Perhaps it’s time to pack a roll or two of toilet tissue.