I wonder if there is any video surveillance footage of me melting down in the hotel in Louisville over Thanksgiving weekend for the Irish dancing championships. Ironic to label it 'melting down', because my fit of rage stemmed from a microwave.
Let me back up. You know I travel with my own food whenever feasibly possible? Thank you, celiac disease - you stupid, shit head.
I called the hotel in advance. 'Can I request a microwave in my room?' The rooms did not come equipped, but I could request one. They made a note of it. I stressed the importance of it since I had dietary issues that sometimes made it difficult for me to eat out.
When I checked into the room, I asked about my microwave request. This is when I learned they don't have microwaves. At all. Who took my request? Now, if you recall, we were given a party room with an extra bathroom next to our regular hotel room - on the top floor, overlooking the river, so I hate to be picky. Crazy thing is the woman at the concierge desk who checked us in had the same first name as me, AND. . . she also had celiac disease. What are the fricking chances?!
Well, the other Ernie explained that they didn't have microwaves because they were fire hazards. She gave me a key to the room a few floors down from mine that had a microwave in it. (How is that room OK to not be fire proof?) It didn't thrill me, but I have had to go to a lobby before to use a communal microwave. No biggie.
The next morning I woke up and ran 4.5 miles on a tread mill. I was famished and I needed to eat. I grabbed my special key card and headed down a few floors in the elevator to cook my oatmeal. Only, there was no microwave room there. The room number didn't exist. BECAUSE, the microwave room was in the other tower. Humph.
|Still don't get how this room would somehow|
manage to not burn the entire hotel down
if the microwave malfunctioned. What gives?
I found the room that held the microwave, but the key would not work. A housekeeper called the front desk for me. She said they would send someone up. Her key wouldn't work for that room.
Minutes went by. She called again. I called the front desk. I called the front desk again. I was SHAKING. My body was in need of calories. Something always goes wrong at these dance competitions. I wondered if this would be the thing. I would pass out in front of this random room in the neighboring tower and not be found for hours. maybe days. Why the Hell was NO ONE coming to open the damn room for me?
I am not proud, but hunger can make people do nutty things. I tried to kick the door in on this empty conference room. To no avail. During my last phone call to the front desk (not as in the last phone call before I was arrested, it didn't end that badly, thank goodness), I uttered these words: 'I am not trying to cook a turkey, I just want to cook some oatmeal!' This was sort of fitting, it being Thanksgiving weekend and all.
|I do not think the hotel management realized|
that they were more at risk of having
someone do damage to their hotel by keeping
my hungry-ass self out in the hallway then they
were if they had just equipped my
damn room with a microwave.
The real question when I finally got in the empty conference room is why on earth is it even locked? It was nothing special. Unless of course you are on the verge of passing out. Then, and only then, would this room be like a heaven on earth with a beckoning, run-of-the-mill, functioning, f-ing microwave.
When I got back to the room. the girls were like, 'What took you so long?' Don't ask