Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2001-10-02 - 11:05 a.m.

Miscellaneous Travel Notes

Why do hotel guys look snobby at you if you are, in their estimation, underdressed for their establishment? Hey, hotel guy! Guess what? You work at a hotel desk for a living!

***

I love my digital camera, but the time delay between pressing the shutter and when the picture gets taken is too long, so I often miss what I'm after. On the other hand, there's no film cost and no development cost, so it doesn't matter that most of the pictures are of "the thing that was there one second after the thing I wanted". On the OTHER hand, I don't even delete these files because I might find a use for them someday (maybe cut them up and make a quilt?) so I end up accumulating a hard drive full of bad-photo files. On the other hand, bad-photo files take up much less space than my endless shoeboxes of bad 35 mm prints. I don't know; maybe I just need more hands.

***

Airport personnel have obviously been hammered recently about security issues. The woman in the American Information office told me FOUR times that she could NOT, under ANY circumstances, tell me whether or not a specific passenger had been on a specific flight. Of course, that's not the information I was asking for, but I really admired the way she stuck to her limits.

***

If you smoke on the breezeway to the garage at a hotel, some stranger will always ask you for a cigarette, and you will always give it to them. It's the great leveler of addiction. "It's menthol, is that all right?" "Oh yes, that's fine." We dirty people must stick together. We are the breezeway pariahs.

***

The hotel staff has been thoroughly schooled to be nice to guests, even dirty ones. "Excuse me, may I clean this?" the kid says nicely to me as I stand there. The courtesy embarrasses me. "Do you mind dragging your ass out of my way while I fish your skanky-ass butts out of this stinking sand can for minimum wage?" I have a whacking dose of smoker's guilt. I don't think anybody but smokers ought to have to handle skanky-ass cigarette butts. Maybe the kid was a smoker. That would be all right, then.

***

Also on the breezeway: a staffwoman walking out to her car - "Hello, are you enjoying your stay with us?" She's OFF, man. Her shift is OVER. Must be management.

***

I'm very close to proving my hypothesis that Pairs of Shoes Worn on Any Trip will be less than or equal to (Number of Pairs Packed - 1). I have only one more experiment: the one where I take only one pair of shoes. I'm putting that one off because I believe it will mean that I forget to wear any shoes at all out to dinner.

***

The airport here is beautifully laid out. Domestic or International, Arriving Flights, Departing Flights, This Airline, That Airline. You only have to follow the signs around the circle. Navigating in the city is another story, especially when you are trying to do it from the back seat. It's like trying to coach a blind person playing Pac-Man. Plus, getting anywhere in the city is piecewise approximation. "We want to go left down there, but I bet we can't, so take any left available, or maybe try the right-right-right thing." "We're not there really, but given the time and traffic I believe we have entered the Wishful Parking Zone for this destination." They're never going to let me direct again.

***

I'm not staying in any more round hotels. Round hotels suck. All the elevator foyers were round rooms surrounded by elevators, meaning that no matter which one I got in I would walk the wrong way after I got out. Round hotels are not for the directionally impaired. Not even round hotels that serve good Reuben sandwiches.

***

I let my car down. I was going to treat it to valet parking, but at the last minute I cheaped out into self-parking. I could see it from the hotel window, on the top floor of the garage, all alone and brave - an elderly, dusty, neglected Colt Vista Wagon with cheerios all over the floor of the back seat. That car never quits, hauls us everywhere, never asks for anything. It has every reason to wait proudly with a Mercedes and a Rolls in the very front of the hotel. I'm sorry, babe. I'll take you out for a quart of 10W40 Detergent instead.

�

previous - next

�