Well, That Ain’t Right

My traveler’s curse reared its ugly head the second we entered our 3rd-floor corner room.

Up until that moment, the hotel was a normal Hilton. The neat and pretty entranceway, the lobby was over-decorated with holiday lights and blinking snowmen, but it was definitely a Hilton Hotel. I purposely chose Hilton because I wanted a high-end, luxurious place to hang out in when we were not on the beach. Sigh.

The room was so sparse and empty that it appeared it had been robbed before we got there. When you entered, you were in the “living room” area. A sofa, desk and a large old chair. Nothing matched the other. No carpets, area rugs, pillows. No overhead light. When you flipped the switch by the door, a dim round light came on in the tiny hallway that connected the living room, bathroom, and bedroom.

The light switch in the bedroom turned off the dome light. There was no overhead light fixture here either. So forget trying to find your p.j.’s in your luggage. It was dark. Oh, wait! There were two lamps by the beds. They did not shed light on the room though. They were lights to read in bed with. LED penlights on swivels, mounted into the wall between the two beds. BTW, the light you can see in the photo is sunshine.

The bathroom had good lighting, but it was noisy. They had the fan attached to the switch, so it was all or nothing. They must have purchased the T.P. and tissues from China. Thin, one-ply, recycled sandpaper. There was no toilet roll holder, so the TP sat in a cubby hole under the counter. It was sad. At least this room had a small trash can. None in the living or bedrooms, not even one by the desk.

Our “kitchen” was a long table that was nailed to the wall, like a shelf. We had a small microwave and a little one-cup Keurig coffee maker. Coffee pods, sugar & creamer were next to it. No coffee cups, however. I called the front desk and requested coffee cups. An hour later, a worker showed up with a plastic bag full of K-cups and packets of sugar & creamer. No cups to make and drink the coffee. I sighed and called the desk again, explaining that we were good with supplies but we needed the cups to drink the coffee out of. An hour passed and I called to check on our request. They asked me to check the outside of the door because that is where they probably hung the bag. No bag. They will be right up, she assured me. I found the cups hanging outside the door before I went to bed. It was a darned shame that the coffee pot did not work right. That was not much of a surprise, considering.

Below the microwave was a baby refrigerator that had NO temp controls inside of it. I looked inside it and all around the outside. No control dial or button of any kind. I asked Maggie to look for one, in case I missed it. Nope, it does not. I put my insulin on the lowest shelf in the door and hoped it would not freeze. It did not. The back of the unit was what froze things. You learned things as you go at this Hilton.

The next day, I wanted to get a different room, but Maggie did not think it would make any difference. She peeked into other rooms when housekeeping was in there and they were just like ours. I decided to give it another day. Besides, the sun was out, the air was warm and sultry, and the beach was calling us. We spent as much time in the sun as we could stand.

The winds were so strong! They did have red flag warnings out because of the wind. It was a warm wind, so that was not the problem. My beach hat was equipped with a strap to keep it from blowing off my head. But the wind had its fun with the hat anyway and the thing beat my head and face the whole time. I was not having fun, so I left Maggie happily in her beach chair, reading her book and I went back to our not-so-Hilton room. We did have a balcony that sheltered us from most of the wind and when it was sunny out we could be out and not in the room.

View from Room 301

The balcony had a fabulous view. I wrote in my journal and enjoyed the sun without wind. I caught myself dozing off, but I did not want to take a nap in our room because it was cold in there. The heater/AC controls did not change anything. The fan blew cold air 24/7 – even when the unit was turned off.

Karma must have been getting back at us for having our window open in the winter at college and freezing out the whole 3rd floor. If you or someone you know roomed in the North Tower, 3rd floor 77-78 at SEMO, please accept my apologies.

To be continued…

Pardon Me, If I Rant a Little

About garment tags.  Again. I speak of tags sewn into garments, not the digital ones that run amok all over social media.I have written a rant about tags already in 2010, then re-published the same a year later because I liked it so much.  This is completely different.  If you are curious about the original, feel free to click the bold text:  The War on Tags

I spent most of the day Saturday performing tag-ectomy surgeries.  Out of ten garments, I only needed to mend 3 of them, this is a great percentage BTW. 

I have questions for the garment industry.  I do not know where to send them – this is why I am asking y’all.  Please, if anyone happens to know the answer – use the comment section and tell us all!

  1. Why do you use the stiffest, scratchy, and itchiest fabric for the tags?  Can’t you use the same fabric as the garment?
  2. Why do you use large, black tags with sheer blouses & nighties?  
  3. What is with the tags on the side seams of garments now? If they replaced the neckline ones that could be good, but alas, they are an addition to the removing and resewing process. Grrr!
I am sure there are other questions we would like answered, but those three are the most important in my opinion. If you think of others, please let me know!

Other People’s Music

I love music, all sorts of genres, artists.  My iPod is crammed full of my favorite songs. 

That being said, it is other people’s music that gets on my nerves.  I can hear it even better than they can.  This is because it is played so  *%^#@!  loud.  The contractors working on a house, the tree fellers, and Power Company, all make a lot of their own noise, which is why they turn up the volume.

I completely get wanting tunes while you work.  I wear my iPod when I clean or ask Alexa to play something for me.

It never occurred to me to share my music with the entire neighborhood. I am selfish in that regard. I assume that not everyone in earshot is a fan of Aerosmith or Billy Idol.  I also keep Guns and Roses to the confines of my earbuds.

So many times a week I have to suppress the knee-jerk response when they turn up their boom box.  I want to scream out my window –

“Tomorrow we are listening to MY playlist!”
and my personal favorite,
“Hey!, Loud music attracts bears, ya know!”

I do love our local musician who plays the trumpet.  He wraps up his evening selection (two or three classical tunes) with Taps.  Then he stops.  It could be that she stops, I am assuming that males are more inclined to play the trumpet.

Now that I am pondering this, it is possible we are not even talking about a trumpet.  It could be a saxophone. Maybe even an Obo.  The only string instrument I know is the piano.  I don’t care if it is a clarinet or a kazoo.  It is beautiful.  Hubby and I always stop what we are doing and just listen.  The dog even listens.

It is always at dusk when he plays, so I can’t wander about in the forest to figure out who it is.  Someday, I hope to figure it out.  I just want to send a Thank You card.  Maybe, some cookies.

♥  TTFN  ♥