07/22/2007

TWENTYsomething

Key issues with hotel living

By Danielle Killgore
Local columnist
danielle.killgore@
gmail.com

Read past TWENTYsomething columns here

I'd always imagined that living out of a hotel for a while would be somewhat of a treat — relaxing even.

That's how it is in the movies, right? A big suite with room service, polished people walking around everywhere. It's always sunny and always happy hour.

Well, I have been living in a hotel for the past month as part of my first post-college job.

And it's not like in the movies.

As of right now, my closest friend in my new home is the front desk lady. She hates me. I visit her weekly, which is as often as I lock myself out of my room.

My real friends know I have a problem with losing keys, but she seems a bit unforgiving and even threatened me with a "fee.” Each time it happens, I pray someone else will be working, but I am always let down.

The odd part is, she pretends to not remember my room number. Our conversations are usually like this:

"Hi, you're going to hate me, again.”

"Why?”

"I locked myself out of my room, again.”

"What room are you?”

Then I would leave her desk and she would remind me to return the other set of keys, which will no longer work.

When I told her I had to extend my stay an extra week, I noticed the tone of her voice go from monotone to unhappy monotone. It's not a good feeling when you let down your only friend. She reminded me, again, not to lose my keys.

For the remaining days, I only hoped I would not lock myself out anymore. I also hoped the hotel would hire a new staff member to work the front desk because my friend really wanted to rip my face off when she'd see me walk into her lobby.

As my last days at the hotel were winding down, I was able to spend some time near the pool one evening with every single other guest staying at the hotel. What a joy! That's right, the hotel caught on fire. Or, should I say, a responsible third-floor neighbor so kindly left something cooking a little too long and set our humble abode aflame.

I smelled the stench of burning food just a few minutes before the firefighters came rushing through the hallways pounding on the doors. I wasn't too worried though. In fact, I felt prepared because I spent kindergarten through 12th grade practicing the Stop, Drop and Roll. Thankfully, I didn't have to use it; the fire was handled quite nicely.

After chatting with the unhappy guests gathered by the pool, I began to notice the choice pajamas of my fellow attendees. And — might I say — yikes! I know we were in hurry to make it out the door, but at least I had my clothes on; others, not so much. In some ways, it was scarier than the fire.

Next time I have to live the hotel life for work, I will be prepared. In the words of Forrest Gump, "You never know what you're going to get.”

Danielle Killgore grew up in Traverse City and is a 2002 graduate of Traverse City Central High School. Newly graduated with a bachelor's degree in communication from Columbia College in Columbia, S.C., she is working as a sales consultant for a Web-based data acquisition company. Writing occasionally for the Record-Eagle Twentysomething column, she can be reached care of the Record-Eagle or at danielle.killgore@gmail.com