If you're curious about my Monday evening at the hotel, here's the sordid details.
After my little event, I met back at the hotel with The Boss and two other associates to review the happenings of the day, and to go over the details for the next. Once we were fully satisfied that we were prepared, The Boss suggested we relax in the hot tub on the bottom level of the building. "Oh," I said, "I didn't bring a swimsuit. And I didn't shave my legs." I was not prepared to be seen without full body coverage. I thought to myself that I would just head back to my room and appreciate the solitude.
"I brought two suits," she said. "You can borrow one. No one will see you. Don't worry." She handed me the suit and, after surrendering to the peer pressure, I headed to my room to change.
Hmmmm. The bottoms AND the bust are a little big (tankini... with a nice long top providing good bum coverage). I will have to be careful getting out of the hot tub or I may lose my {pants}. And my legs and pits could use a once-over... oh well. I put on the hotel robe and headed back to meet the ladies. The elevator ride from the club level to the bottom went smoothly and without notice. We discreetly moved into the pool and hot tub area and slipped into the steaming water. (I noticed the well-fitting flattering suits of the other girls.) Those jets were loud and strong, and the hot tub was extremely large. We had to yell to hear each other talk.
(Side note: I'm not a fan of hot tubs. I think it's a little odd to sit around with people other than yourself or your family in a big ol' tub of bubbling water. Especially one that who-knows-how-many-other-people have been in that day... or the day before... or the week before... you get my drift. Personally, I sweat when I get hot. Gross. That means other people sweat too. And I won't even let my mind wander to what other bodily fluids could possibly be stewing around in it too.) Back to the story.
The Boss's husband stopped by. Uncomfortable. He stayed and chatted until we decided to get out. Awkward. So I carefully pulled the long tankini top down over my behind, exited the hot tub, and wrapped up in my robe. I felt for my hotel key and cell phone in the pocket, and followed behind the others to the elevators and up to the 5th floor where we split to go to our rooms. Mine was across a walkway over the lobby and down the hall, the others were in the opposite direction. I put my key in the door. No green light. I tried again. No green light. Hmmmm. I walked down to the special club level breakfast/cocktail room where one of my associates was checking something on the hotel computer. I told her I couldn't get my room open. "Did you have your cell phone and your key in the same pocket?" she asked.
"Yes." I tried to remember if that was a bad thing. It seemed like I'd heard something about not putting your key next to your cell phone before. But it had obviously been swept out of my mind by all the OTHER stuff I had to put in there. And it's not like I frequent hotels. And when I do, Bill's usually in charge of the key.
"I'll go with you to the lobby in just a minute," she offered.
I mulled it over. I'm a big girl, I thought. I can handle this. I headed to the elevator to head back down to the lobby. In my robe, a borrowed swimsuit, hairy legs, clammy/sweaty skin, wet hair, un-pedicured toes, and the flip flops I wore to paint my table last week, which had a few nice black paint splotches on them. "I'm sure this will just take a minute," I thought, "and I will be back in my room in a flash."
I crossed the lobby, acutely aware of the two men standing on one end of the long front desk, enjoying a drink and chatting. I approached the nice middle-aged woman working there, and explained that neither of my two room keys was working (I had one to The Boss' suite too), and could I please get some new ones. She smiled and started typing in the computer. What is the name on the first account? I gave her the Boss' name. And the address? she asked.
Well, gosh, I don't really know what address she gave. Was it her home address? Was it her business address? I told her I didn't know, and could I please just ring her room and ask? She dialed the room. The Boss didn't even know what address she used. The desk lady kept saying, "I'm just following hotel procedure." Finally, after obvious trepidation, she gave me a new key for the Boss' suite.
Then she starting typing in the information for my room. She asked my name. Then she asked my address. I remembered back to when I checked in (much) earlier that day, when another desk lady told me as I was filling out the info for my room, that if I had a business card, she could just attach it to the paper and I would not need to fill out the address info, etc. Since I had a nice stack of newly printed cards, I shuffled around in my purse to find one and handed it to her. Did I know the business address on that card? That would be a big fat no. Did I have any identification on me? Another big fat no.
About this time a small group of about 6 six people entered the lobby through the front door. Back from a nice dinner and evening out, I'm sure. Dressed up. Talking politely. I was feeling so conspicuous in my bright white robe, nasty flip flops, and limp hair haphazardly tied back in a very messy bun. I felt {dumb} that I couldn't even tell the desk lady the address on my room account. Please, please, PLEASE can I just get back in my room and shut the door?
After about 15 minutes of explaining (on my part), and typing/calling/following hotel procedure (on the desk lady's part), I had my two keys, and could return to my room. I walked over to the elevators and pushed the "up" button. Within seconds I was joined by a gentleman, also waiting for an "up" elevator. The bell rang, a light went on, and one of the four doors opened. The man stepped in. I just stood there. There was no way I was riding up an elevator with ANYBODY. The doors closed, and I pushed the "up" button again. Could this take any longer? I wondered. Finally another door opened, I hurried in, and quickly inserted my room key that allowed access to the 5th floor. I prayed the doors would close before anyone else needed a ride up. Luck was on my side, and I made the ride to my floor alone. I only passed one person on the way from the elevator to my room, and I breathed a sigh of relief when that green light went on and my door opened.
So that's it. The whole enchilada.
The tale of my embarrassment. The good (something to laugh about in the future), the bad (being the only one in a bath robe in the middle of the lobby of a big hotel -- like a reoccurring bad dream), and the ugly (me, after hot tubbing). The next time I am unprepared for a hot tub excursion, I'll not succumb to the peer pressure. And I certainly won't ever put my hotel room key in the same pocket as my cell phone. And I'll make sure I know what the address is on my room information. If nothing else was gained, lessons were learned.
