December 9, 2019

is that a microwave in your pocket or are you just trying to burn this place down?

(see previous post to get caught up to speed, or just decide to be a tad clueless while reading the rest - choice is yours!)
Our tucked away microwave is on the
bottom of the towering tower of bags on the right.
  Still hidden compliments of the polar bear blanket.

I called the front desk and wrestled the not-microscopic microwave into the canvas bag before the hotel employee arrived.  They offered to swap me into a king room, but I was not willing to share a bed with Curly.  Not interested in dealing with a thrashing 11 year old, and I still wanted to steer clear of germville.  Their solution:  a guy wielding more God awful Fe-breeze and a promise that the next day they would have housekeeping do an ozone treatment while we left the room.

Saturday I woke up having slept great.  It took me a minute to register where we were - until I inhaled.  Oh, that's right.  A Marlboro factory.  Our big plans: walk to the venue to show Curly her stage and buy the program.  That was it.  We just wanted to chill out - IN THE ROOM.  

I called the front desk to let them know we would be leaving so they could start the ozone deal.  I once again struggled with the burdensome but life-saving microwave to hide it in the canvas bag.  They weren't sure how long ozone-ing would take, so I strapped half of our belongings (iPad, DVD player, books, etc) to my arms and we walked the 3 blocks to the venue with the girls.  Oh, I should mention that I rode the bike in the exercise room for about 8 miles that morning.  That helps loosen my bitch knee, but trust me when I say the damn thing is far from healed.

Two hours later the hotel called my cell.  "Hi, can we go back to our room yet?"  Well, they didn't realize that housekeeping could not do an ozone treatment unless the room was unoccupied.  Why had they waited two hours to tell me this?  My frustration was bubbling over as if it had been over-heated in a contraband freaking microwave.   

Photo credit:  Curly Shenanigan aka
prankster extraordinaire. 
I decided to show this gem
and just convert the flabby, pasty-white
 fleshy parts to a fake blue
 sweater with my magic ink.
This time the manager said she could put us in a different queen room.  The thought of re-packing and moving made my limbs ache, but my nasal passages argued that they could NOT tolerate the smoke smell.  The girls were a little like, 'Whatever, it isn't that bad,' until we got back to the room.  We walked in and they both covered their faces:  "OMG it smells so strong of cigarette smoke!"  They had yet to leave the room prior to this singular outing.  Now they were happy to leave.  

Someone agreed to come up with a cart to help us move in 20 minutes.  The girls put their things in their bags and then enjoyed the Harry Potter marathon.  Curly suffers from that oh-a-TV-is-on-I-cannot-function syndrome.  Ugh.  She did manage to snap a photo of me unloading the fridge into the cooler.  I would share it with you, but I HAD TAKEN MY SWEATER OFF BECAUSE I WAS DRIPPING IN SWEAT!  Use your imagination.  

Curly pointed out to me (while still sweating
 and sans sweater, that this sign SHOULD have
 been posted in our first room.  It is a no
smoking sign.  This quick photo opp involved
 me pausing in my fridge stocking duty
while grumbling:  Oh, don't worry girls. 
Don't get up.  I got this!
The lady with the cart showed up and gave me two $25 vouchers for the restaurant.  The girls' eyes got real big.  I was like 'Hello - food was prepared and packed and lugged here, AND we are on a tight schedule.  We will not be dining out.'  Besides, I really felt the hotel should be giving me a free night off of my bill.  What kind of housekeepers think a stinky-ass room can be perfumed and then given the all-clear?

The new room was even bigger.  Even more space to set up an itty-bitty microwave disguised as a decent sized microwave that had now been set up and taken down more times than I could count.  

My Irish dancing mom friend told me that her mom is a smoker and that even if she does not smoke in a room, she can leave a pretty powerful odor.  Really?  


Kari said...

Lord yes to that last comment. Smoke smell on clothing can leave an odor in a room. A strong one at that. I worked retail for too many years and when a smoker would try on clothing we would sometimes have to damage the clothing out because of the lasting smell. Says something about what it does to your lungs, doesn't it?

Also, how is it I just now noticed that your header is a drawing that you did?? I am the Queen of missing a point or being beside a point.

Busy Bee Suz said...

Ciggie smell lingers on everything. My Mom was a smoker, the girls and I have a lot of her stuff and sometimes I can open a box and I get the smell of her apartment. The girls mention this to me as well. She died 5 years ago. For real. It lingers.
The smell gets in your nostrils and doesn't want to leave....I could not handle a smokers room in a hotel, so I don't blame you.

Nicole said...

I can immediately tell if someone is a smoker - it really does hang on a person, hair, skin, etc.

Ernie said...

I used to run a garage sale for our Catholic grade school and the clothes that were donated smelling of smoke we just tossed in the dumpster. GROSS!

Ha - yep, I drew that. I was between that and the photo I took off all the kids' feet - you can see a tiny version of that by my 'about me'. Not a foot person? Look away!

Ernie said...

I assumed someone was smoking in the room, but maybe not! The housekeeping staff had to have recognized it because they poured a few bottles of Febreze over it to hide it. Come on, who were they kidding?

Ernie said...

At a doc appointment the other day, I got up and moved to a different part of the waiting room because the guy who walked in and sat near me wreaked of cigarette smoke. Yuck!