Prompt: One night in a hotel
Let me tell you a story about a man and his wife, a hotel room, and a cursed night they spent in the Deep South. Ok, truly it is a hotel review spun into a nightmarish comedy. #firstworldproblems
It was a dark and stormy night. (No, seriously, the list of warnings included things like “coastal flood warning” and “tornado warning.”) The winds were gusting outside the high rise and the rain slashed against the dingy exterior. At times it truly sounded as if Hurricane “Oh No You Don’t” were going to level our room. Just our room. It knew this was yet our second attempt at taking the same doomed cruise the following day that it’s predecessor Ivan had stomped on two years prior- the infamous three day cruise to nowhere. It wasn’t until hours later that we realized those weren’t gale force winds and that we weren’t about to die. It was merely the sound of the elevators on the other side of our paper wall that threatened our very existence.
We were given an “upgraded” room, number 1701, near the tip of the iceberg, the hotel’s zenith. (Welcome Mr. Ambassador.) One can only imagine which of Dante’s seven levels of Hell each of the sixteen floors below must’ve been. Ours was likely somewhere in there still, mayhap a purgatory of sorts. As the evening progressed, the room’s atmosphere assisted in eliminating any flyaway fears of the follicular variety (an unadvertised bonus!) The humidity and warmth embraced us like the unwelcome sweat of gym shorts. An occasional breath of air played in staccato notes from over by the window where the thermostat strictly governed the airflow, circulating with impressive efficiency eight inches above to one foot below and around again. Of course, attempting to control the airflow of an entire king suite could not possibly be as electrically efficient!
Next door, via a locked (thankfully) connecting door, were our friendly neighbors. They were the most courteous of sorts, eagerly sharing the volume of their TV (in case ours didn’t work properly), allowing us to join in with their dance party, and inviting us to enjoy their conversation. So thoughtful!
From out in the hall, we heard the passage of many other neighborly guests, pitching their voices to announce their arrival lest we leave them out of the fun. Some seemed intent on bursting through our door for a more personable “hello;” however, by the time we glanced through the miniaturized porthole, the mysterious visitors were nowhere to be found. The rattling of the door provided a nice ambiance though, mingling with the thumping bass from next door.
After dinner, a non-Manhattan drink, a little light reading, and a few snores (from the husband), the real entertainment of the evening began. Apparently, 1801 must’ve discovered our keen interest in mattress shopping, and proceeded to give a live demonstration of their hotel room mattress’s inner-coil springiness. Unfortunately, they were a couple of weeks too late to effectively assist us in this research endeavor. The vocals and sound effects carried beautifully through the floorboards, however, which made for quite the amorous, voyeuristic experience.
Despite the challenges of this eventful night, a writer can always turn sour grapes into a vintage of sorts. It might take some heavy stomping and a bit of time, but as long as you enjoy it to it’s full creative extent, you won’t care whether or not the hotel lived up to it’s end of the bargain, assuming you make it out alive…
I hope you have enjoyed this little spin off from the 2020 Writing Challenge. This bit was not based on a writing prompt, but on a true story. For those who are wondering, the hotel was a brand name hotel in a small, coastal city in the US, but that is all I will say!