Guest Blogger

Now and then, I'm going to invite someone to be a guest blogger. My first guest is Mindy. She thought she might resurrect her blog, but she simply does not have the time. Hopefully, this will be a way for her to keep us entertained in a style that only Mindy can. Enjoy!

Once upon a business trip not too long ago…

My boss never travels with us on business. However, on one particular occasion shortly after I was hired, he came along. As luck (bad luck ,that is) would have it, his room was right next to mine. One night, upon finishing my room service dinner, I went to place my tray in the hallway like any conscientious hotel visitor.

Carefully placing the chain lock between the door and its frame so that it wouldn’t shut behind me is what any expert traveler (or anyone with an IQ greater than a desk lamp) would have done. Not me. Instead, carefully juggling the tray with a half-full water pitcher and the unnecessary amount of utensils and dishes they had given me with my meal, I slung the door open as hard as I could with my foot and then sprinted to the side to set my tray against the wall as quickly as possible so as to get back inside before the door closed… no such luck. I turned around just in time to see my hotel door shut and lock (I may or may not have also done one of those futile slow motion lunges toward it like they do in the movies—but it’s all really a blur). Rookie mistake.

I stood there stunned for a minute and then frantically began jiggling my door handle (knowing full well that it wasn’t going to open, but still unprepared to consider my other options). Only as I came to terms with the fact that I was going to have to go downstairs to the front desk to request a new key did I become fully aware of exactly what I was wearing: An extra large Indy 500 t-shirt with neon-colored race cars on it, and Victoria’s Secret pajama bottoms with 6-inch sparkly pink letters across the butt (and it goes without saying that I was also shoe-less, bra-less, and make-up-less as well). At this point I was even madder at myself for what I was wearing than I was for letting my door lock right in front of me. I don’t care what my Dad has tried to teach me for the past 26 years: screw comfort, life is a fashion show and this proves why!

All I could think about was the possibility of my boss walking out of his room at any moment and seeing me standing in the middle of the hallway in my pajamas. How would I explain myself if he did? I didn’t know if it would be better to explain that I accidentally locked myself out of my hotel room because I’m a dumbass or to say that I always roam hotel hallways in my pajamas at night. Surely he would fire me either way. Heck, at this point I was about to fire myself… from society!

As I considered the logistics of getting down to the lobby to request a new key, I stood in the doorframe of my room pressed against the oh-so-slightly recessed door hoping that I would go unnoticed if anyone (heaven forbid—my BOSS) walked down the hallway. In hindsight, even my forearm was wider than the indented doorway… and my neon t-shirt and sparkly pink pants wouldn’t go unnoticed at a Prince concert. But my Mission-Impossiblesque stance seemed like a good idea at the time.

After a few minutes of avoiding the inevitable, I knew what I had to do: I had to make a break for it. I had to get to the lobby as quickly as possible, hopefully avoid all human contact (except for the front desk clerk), get a new key and get back to the comfort of my own hotel room (without losing every last shred of dignity, if at all possible). Easy enough? Of course not.  Was my room on the 1^st or 2^nd floor? No, I was so high up I practically needed an oxygen tank. Even if I made it to the elevator unnoticed (which, given my luck up until this point, was entirely too optimistic), I would have to wait for the elevator to make its way to me atop Mt. Everest, and then risk stopping on any/all of the 465,372 floors on the way down. Was my room at least right next to the elevator so that I wouldn’t have to run through my entire floor to get there, even if I had a long way down once I did? No, my room and the elevator shaft were basically in different zip codes. I didn’t even know how I was going to get to the elevator without GPS. And, finally, the cherry on top of this sundae of unfortunateness was that my destination, the hotel lobby, also housed a giant sports bar that was open from all 360 degrees, and, as far as I could tell, the most “happening” place in this whole Floridian suburb.

I counted to three and then made my move. To my surprise and delight, I made it to the elevator with Chris-Johnson-like speed and agility (circa 2009/2010 season, not so much 2010/2011 season). In an even more surprising turn of events, there was a phone next to the elevator (could it be that I could actually make it through this whole ordeal without anybody but the hotel staff knowing about it?!?)! The phone had only one big red button, so I ascertained that it was some kind of emergency line. I didn’t know who it would dial, but I didn’t care: if this wasn’t an emergency, I didn’t know what was. A female answered with a concerned tone. I explained the gist of my predicament (trying not to sound as panicked or frantic as I actually was) and told her my room number. She said she would send someone right up. Great! I sprinted back to my door and again tried to hide in my doorway. There (where, as was determined earlier, I was in no way actually “hidden”), I waited for what seemed like forever (but not just normal “forever,” “forever” like if you had to spend the rest of your life watching nothing but reruns of “The Simple Life”).

Upon realizing that no one was coming, I knew I was going to have to repeat the whole mortifying process. This time, when I got to the phone, the same girl answered giggling, “oh my gosh, I totally forgot!” Seriously? She ‘forgot?’ SERIOUSLY?!? I thought of all people another female would understand the magnitude of my situation! No longer trying to sound calm and collected, I yelled, “Listen, I am barefoot, in my pajamas, bra-less, and locked out of my room ONE DOOR DOWN FROM MY NEW BOSS. Send. Someone. Now. I seriously cannot come down there!”

A few moments later, someone arrived to let me in. Against all odds I made it through the incident with minimal embarrassment. But I did learn a valuable travel lesson that will be the first one I shall bestow on you:

Mindy’s travel tip #1: Never EVER set even one foot outside your hotel room without your key in hand… and, if you do, make darn sure you are wearing something reasonably fashionable.