Do Not Leave Unattended

Use what you will - numbers, stars, signs - no matter how you configure them, all will align agreeably when it comes to how I am most likely to proceed with life. 

No surprise ending. 

No mind-blowing twists.  

Best defining words? Organized, disciplined, logical and detail oriented. 

Oh, wait just a second, that description is for those other people. Let me find my list. Ah yes, here it is. It reads more like this: risk-taker, adventurer, fiercely independent, imaginative, curious, overly competitive, unpredictable and easily stressed.

Although these main definers may allude to wild and crazy Instagram worthy days capturing free spirited, spur of the moment adventures, it sure ain’t all glory happening over here. If you’ve seen my Instagram feed lately you know there's a greater share of knitting and book reading going on. And yet somehow, even in the mundane moments, adventure creeps in unintentionally. Rather unpredictably predictable, wouldn’t you agree?

You need a story, don’t you? 

The Story

This past weekend, I set out on a serious venture (yes, venture = dare to do something or go somewhere that may be dangerous or unpleasant, not an adventure = an exciting experience or undertaking that is typically bold, sometimes risky). It was an emotional 7-hour drive to bring home some of the most sentimental items I own. A doll highchair I have had since I was a toddler, my father’s mounted animal heads from his hunting days, books from my past, my girls’ baby books, my diaries and journals. Not only was I bringing my past home, I was also stepping back into singleness. Very serious, indeed. I just needed to get the job done. No antics, no side trips, no stories. 

And yet, one happened anyway. 

About halfway to my destination, the tears start to come. The last couple of months have had their share of stress and adjustments and it was time to release some of that emotional buildup. Teary eyed, I realize my plan to stay with any number of friends will not work out this time. I need to let these feelings have a voice and take some time to ruminate over lessons learned. So, I pull out my phone to begin the search for a place to rest my suddenly very weary bones. 

As I weave back and forth across the highway my quick call to a hotel instructs me to book online to save money. I am still being kept on the road by rumble strip warnings on the right and left so online I go and manage to book a room with Super 8. I feel a bit of relief having one thing settled. 

An email confirmation pops up and congratulates me for my upcoming trip…on October 2!!! Say what?! Argh! I meant to book for September 9! How did that happen? What do I do now? My “quick call” turns into a long session of chat texting with Expedia (because no live human is available to talk to) explaining my mistake which results in an unmovable reply of “nonrefundable”. 

Grrr! More back and forth across highway lines and chat arguing and I finally have one cancellation and one room booked for the actual night I need it. Another email confirms it is now for the correct date.

Feeling like a rock star! 

All Is Quiet

In actuality my heart is pounding, my head is aching and I’m feeling most incompetent. In that state, I reach my destination and load up. It’s been a very long day. More tears. More feels. More just everything.

The hour is late when I pull into the dark parking lot of the Super 8. Nothing fancy is required, just a comfy bed and a hot shower, quietness and solitude. I walk up to check in. The front desk is as equally dark as the parking lot. A sign reads “Sorry for the inconvenience. No attendant is available. If you need help, please call this number.” 

A slight delay to my hot shower plan, but I’ve seen these afterhours signs before. I call the number. The phone at the front desk rings. THE FRONT DESK!!! You know, the one I am standing in front of with NO attendant?!! 

Please recall from my list “easily stressed”. Well, I strive to remain calm and decide to pull logic from those other peoples' list. I check the website for a different number, I check my email for check in information, I look all around inside and out for an afterhours key box, I do all the tricks. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My bladder is pushing me to act now. I walk up and down the hallways looking for a lobby bathroom. Again, nothing.

Enter Adventure

Except….what is this here??

Like in a dream, a soft light is shining to my right. A room door is held open with a sturdy door stopper and I am being sucked in by the warm glow. Instinct warns me to take at least a moment to consider what is happening here. I tiptoe in and look all around. Am I about to be murdered?? There are no signs that anyone else has been in this room. Obviously, it has been left open for a Late Comer. Once again, thinking practically, I tell myself this is a small town, and it is very likely the trusting thing they would do. This must be my room. I am the Late Comer. To be safe, I bolt, chain and slip the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Soon I am between the sheets and held by pillows. 

Midnight. I hear a room key being inserted over and over into the slot. The door handle is being rattled with frustration and determination. Like a coward I hide under the blankets. Perhaps it is the attendant checking to see if the Late Comer has arrived safely? I creep from my bed and peek through the peephole. Definitely NOT the attendant. Most definitely an angry gentleman trying to get into the room. He calls the emergency number and I hear the phone ring at - you guessed it - the front desk! 

I try to talk myself out of my cowardice and formulate a casual conversation to be had with what I am now realizing is the rightful occupant of room #137. But as I reach the door, the human on the other side has reached a level of fury that causes me to double check the bolt and chain before executing a speedy leap back into bed. I mean, I have already used his bathroom and am sleeping in his bed! There is nothing to be done. I hear him cursing to his brother that he can’t believe they double booked his room. Yes, kind sir, that is correct…. double booked, indeed!

At long last he gives up and goes in search of another place to stay. I am a bit shaken and wake every hour. So much for quietness and solitude. 

5:30am rolls around and I might as well get on the road. Still no attendant. After a couple hours of driving, I call the Super 8 and explain the night’s drama. I expect she is about to have an irate confrontation from one slighted customer if she hasn’t already. She apologizes for the mix up as do I. I give her my reservation number for reference. She is baffled when she can’t find either my name or reservation in her system. I calmly reassure her I will touch base with Expedia and get to the bottom of it. 

I am tempted to just let it go but conviction from my newfound resolve to set those boundaries, stand up for myself and follow through until the job is done takes over. After bolstering myself with courage for the task, I contact Expedia with a request for a refund. No need to explain the “double booking” fiasco. All they need to know is I was unable to check into the room they reserved for me and offer a refund for my troubles. Can you believe, despite my resolve and stick-to-itiveness, I get “non-refundable” for a final answer?! The explanation was “the hotel has no evidence of you being there!” My incredulous retort? “THERE WAS NO ONE AT THE FRONT DESK!!!”  In their most helpful manner, they suggest I call the Super 8 back and see if they are willing to work with me.

All On My Own