Christmas 2019. It wasn’t the most stellar of Christmas mornings. I didn’t get much sleep in room 415 on Christmas Eve at the Hampton. There was a motor running somewhere and I found myself measuring its cycles - running for 7 seconds, off for 10, running 7, off 10, running 7, off ten. It sounded like a clothes dryer on a very short wrinkle-prevent cycle. “If it's not a dryer, what else could it be?” I mused. “Since we’re on the top floor, maybe it's some piece of equipment on the roof. An air-conditioner maybe? But A/C compressors don’t usually go off and on so frequently. What could it be? What could it be?” All this mental activity is not conducive to good sleep.
I got up at 6:30 and got dressed. Texted my hubby who was already downstairs getting breakfast and asked him to check with Glorianna at the front desk and see if they have another room available.
I went downstairs to get breakfast. Hubby is nowhere in sight. Got a boiled egg and some fruit off the breakfast bar. Ate the fruit, but ended up throwing the egg away because it was impossible - and I do mean impossible - to get the shell peeled off.
Texted "Where are you?" to Hubby just before he materialized in the dining room. Apparently, he had gone up on one elevator while I came down on the other. "Go talk to Glorianna," he tells me, "She's checking on another room."
Glorianna says the noise is probably the ice machine and there are ice machines on each floor, so it may not do any good to move. Clearly, the ice machine is not the source of the noise. “If it was the ice machine, wouldn't you hear the noise when you're standing by the ice machine?” I asked. Of course you would, but that's not the case. We've stayed at this hotel numerous times over the years on floors 1, 2, and 3. The first time we stay on the fourth floor is the first time we encounter this noise. It can’t be the ice machine. Glorianna says if we want to clear our stuff out of room 415 now, she will arrange for us to have a different room this afternoon after the cleaning staff is finished. I say, "Never mind. This is Christmas Day. I don't want to spend it moving out of the hotel and back in." I've always liked Glorianna, but if I discuss this with her any more, I won’t like her. Sometimes you have to stop talking to people you like if you want to keep liking them.
As we are leaving the hotel to go to our daughter’s house, my rubber-soled shoe refuses to slide on the rubber edge of the big rug at the front door, causing me to trip and fall face forward on the floor. Indignity added to frustration. Hubby has a bum knee and can't get me up. I can't get up by myself because my knees don't bend enough to get my feet up under my body. A big, husky young fellow in the dining room witnessed my lack of grace and helped me up. God bless him. On the way to the car, Hubby said something about the importance of picking one's feet up. So comforting.
On the bright side, I did not hit my head on anything and didn’t break any bones, so all is well. But the moral to this story might be: Stay at home for Christmas.