I’m surrounded by things that go bump in the night. The sources of my nightly sleep diversions are unaware I can hear every fart, snore, conversation and orgasm. I happen to live in a hotel. For the past nine months the only solid thing separating me from this entertainment is too little insulation, sandwiched in between thin drywall and two coats of paint. I swear.
I am loathe to give up my room because of the quiet wall on the other side. Every other wall in this hotel is built like a loudspeaker. Who needs a large screen TV with pay per view when your neighbor is free? I originally had the room next door. Then I had a problem with the noise coming from the room I have now. I know it’s the wall. Trust me.
Apparently most of the money went into the decoration of the hotel. I think it was designed by twenty year olds who either never stayed in a hotel themselves, or else if they had, they were too busy partying to hear themselves. Every surface in the public area is metallic, wood or concrete. Add to that the loud pop music in the lobby and you have sound ricocheting everywhere.
But, I digress. This weekend some little shit stole one of the cue sticks from the pool table and broke the tip off the other one. There were only two good sticks to begin with. Ever tried playing pool having to share one stick? It’s inconvenient. They would have to break my favorite cue stick too. It was the boys. I could just tell something bad was going to happen by the way they disrespected the game. A cue stick is not a thin baseball bat.
Hunph.
You’d be surprised what goes on in a hotel. Makes you wonder how people behave at home. Or, not, and that’s why they come to a hotel. This one is pregnant with material for a comedy routine. It would figure since this hotel is marketed to the age group who still has an active sex life.
Speaking of which, they came to redo the shower tile today. My room hasn’t seen that much banging in a long time. It’s not easy meeting men when you spend most of your time alone and writing in a hotel. I’d have an easier time finding that stolen cue stick than a date. I’m told I need a younger man to keep up with me. It seems there are plenty of men in their thirties who are looking for a cougar. I noticed in the dictionary that cougar is right below the definition for a couch potato. Cougars should not be after couch potatoes in my book.
It’s not like I lack for attractors. Give me a break. A woman living alone in a hotel? I’m a veritable magnet for horny males, which happens to be every guy convinced he’s doing me a favor by reminding me of what he assumes I’m missing. Jimmy Stewart wasn’t the only one who had a rabbit for a friend.
I’m not saying I haven’t made some mistakes along these lines. Looking back, I’m amazed at how well I can ignore my own standards. Sometimes, getting out of your comfort zone is good for you. No harm, no foul.