I’ve always loved hotel rooms. Swiping the lock and taking the first steps into an exotic new space has always brought an unreasonable feeling of giddiness over me. Perhaps it was the excitement of a new, albeit temporary, homestead. Growing up I had done no shortage of traveling as my family was fond of roadtrips around the southeast. Though we were very much of the “drive all day and stay with family ilk, resulting in a stay at the Holiday Inn feeling like a true luxury. Dad’s absolute refusal to stay in anything other than the cleanest of rooms no doubt also helped shield me from a lot of potential negative hotel experience.
Going on into the middle and high school years hotel rooms took on the feel of a rented Ford Mustang. A little hopping on the bed, sure, why not, press that accelerator down just a bit (full disclosure, this still happens from time to time). Though, much like with rental cars I’ve refrained from going completely buck wild because of possible ramifications, both moral and financial. Clearly others are more comfortable flooring it in theirtemporary playground.
Now after about three months on the road some of the giddiness has subsided just a tad. Every new room is greeted with a check of what amenities it does or doesn’t have, though I’m easy to please. At least give me a treadmill and a laundry room and I won’t complain. Fortunately I’ve been staying at very nice hotels, so I still have yet to run into any horror stories. Hotel rooms may have moved from being an exotic luxury to a commodity to me, but fortunately they’ve remained a commodity I rather enjoy. Having your own staff of housekeepers is easy to get used to.