Stay
from Encounters

We’d stayed on the tarmac two hours waiting for a gate to open for our flight, and then we’d waited in line for a taxi and had been held up in traffic and had finally arrived at our hotel. The lobby was full of people I suspected were attending the same conference I’d come into town for, and there was a long line of them at the reception desk. I groaned to my wife, and she told me to settle down and get ready for more waiting, but the bellman who’d loaded our bags onto a luggage carrier came to our aid and suggested that we try the self-checkin machine. I said that I had a fear of that type of machine. My fear was that I’d get halfway through the transaction and then be unable to complete it. I was tired and already stressed, and I didn’t want to get myself in limbo with some machine I didn’t know how to use and deplete my limited reserve of patience and energy. I could end up wasting time and have to stand in line anyway. He said he understood and offered to walk us through the process. We looked at the line and agreed to let him help us.

The bellman took us to the machine, which no one else was using, and it worried me that we were the only ones taking advantage of its availability. I could tell by the way he squinted at the screen that he wasn’t sure which buttons to press. I didn’t like the idea of touching the screen, I told him. A stream of travelers with dirty hands came into the hotel every day and how many of them walked up to this screen and put their fingers on it? How often did the hotel clean the screen? I asked. He seemed unable to focus on my question and at the same time make the choices the self-checkin machine required him to make. He ended up on a wrong screen, and my wife told me not to distract him, to let him think about what he was trying to do. He started over and eventually got the machine where he wanted it and asked us for our name. He found our reservation, pressed a few buttons, and the machine spit out two keycards.

He handed me the keycards, told us where to find the elevator, and said he’d meet us at the room with our bags. As we started walking I said it was interesting that most suitcases had wheels under them though almost none of the customers did, and I asked if anyone else had commented to him about this disparity. He didn’t think anyone ever had, he said. My wife said she wasn’t surprised to hear it.

The elevator was transparent on the back side and you could see out over the lobby, rows of rooms all the way to the top surrounding a void in the middle. The bellman was at the room waiting for us with the luggage when we got there. I opened the door with the keycard, and we walked past the bathroom and through a short hallway. The bellman followed us in and turned on the light and propped the door open with a duffel bag. We could smell cigarettes right away, and the room had two double beds. I asked for a king or a queen bed, my wife told the bellman when he pushed the luggage carrier into the room, and also a nonsmoking room. He explained that this was a nonsmoking room, but it had been converted recently from a smoking room. They’d had the room cleaned and deodorized, but it would take time for the smell to dissipate. My wife told him the smell was already making her nose burn, and I said that we wouldn’t be able to sleep in the room. Stay here, the bellman said and moved to the door. I’ll go down and see if I can get you another room.

We should have told him more about our reservation when we checked in, my wife said. We were tired and distracted, I said, and the self-checkin machine should have known what was on our reservation. My wife replied that she hoped the machine hadn’t given us this room because it was the best one available. I’m surprised he would leave us here alone, I said. How can he know what we’ll do before he gets back?  My wife said she was dying to use the bathroom, and I said I needed to use the bathroom too, but I didn’t think we should. She said she could use the toilet and no one would ever know it. You go first then, I said, but I’m going if you go and I don’t think we should run any water in the sink because that would give us away. I told her as she went into the bathroom and closed the door that I needed to drink some water, but I didn’t think we should use the glasses. I wanted to lie down on the bed but didn’t think we should do that either, I said, and if I did lie down I’d probably fall asleep. I didn’t think we should even sit on the bed. Outside of using the floor, there weren’t many things we should be doing in the room, I said to my wife through the closed door.

I heard the toilet flush, and she came out. Don’t hold your head under the faucet to get a drink of water, she said, you’ll leave drops in the sink. I told her I had better sense than to do that, and she said I was always sticking my head under some faucet to get a drink. I said that I’d wait until we got to another room to drink some water and wash my filthy hands and face, and she brought up the possibility that there might not be another room.

I went in the bathroom and closed the door and she said I should sit on the toilet, not stand, and hurry up, the bellman could be coming back. When I flushed the toilet it made a racket, but soon after I opened the bathroom door the noise stopped. I paced up and down, while my wife sat in the only chair in the room. She asked me to stop pacing, it was making her nervous, and I could tell by the way she licked her lips that she was thirsty. I imagined filling a glass up with water, sharing it with her and then wiping the glass off with a tissue and putting the wet tissue in my pocket. But I knew I’d never get all the drops off the glass if I wiped it in a hurry. I stood still, glancing at my fingernails to see how dirty they were. I wish he’d asked us a few questions, I said, about what kind of room we wanted or told us what type of room the machine said we were getting. I asked her if she thought I should give him a good tip if he found us a better room, if he should be rewarded for getting us out of the bad room he gave us in the first place. He’s doing the best he can, she answered, and I don’t want to give him a hard time when he gets back. We’re being inconvenienced, I said. We’re stuck here with this smell and we can’t wash our hands or use the bathroom without worrying he’ll come in and interrupt us. Let’s just see what happens, she said. 

Then we heard a knock, and I went to the door and pulled it open. The bellman came in and said he’d found us another room, three floors up, nonsmoking, the last king bed left in the hotel. I wondered if it was true, if he was trying to make us feel lucky and casting himself in the role of the hero who would shepherd us to the last unoccupied king bed in the place. He told us the room number and said he’d bring the luggage to the door as soon as he could.

We took the short trip up on the elevator and then walked past a long row of identical doors. We stopped at the last door, the bellman just behind us. He took a keycard out of his pocket, opened the door, and we went inside. Bed unmade, open suitcase on the luggage rack, clothes draped over the upright lid, water running in the bathroom, different layout than the other room, bathroom around a corner past the bed. The bellman waved us from the room and closed the door behind him before anyone came out of the bathroom for a look. I’m sorry, he said, our records showed that the room was unoccupied.

The door suddenly opened. A man who was soaking wet stood in front of us with a towel wrapped around his waist, his chest wide, filling the doorway. Did you just come in my room? he asked the bellman and looked all of us up and down. I apologize, sir, the bellman said, but according to our system you had vacated the room. I asked to stay another night, the guest said, gripping the towel as if we might be thinking of tearing it away from him. Will my keycard work or did you just change the code or whatever for these people?  I didn’t like the way he looked at us when he asked the question, but I couldn’t blame him. I’ll see about that for you, the bellman answered, I’ll come back later. The guest closed the door without another word.

What about a queen bed? my wife asked. One without somebody else in it, I said. Let’s go down and see what we have, the bellman said. I drifted to the rail and looked into the void in the center of the hotel. Are we here yet? I asked. We headed for the reception desk.

Read the last installment of Encounters

© 2010 Glen Pourciau