I'm Paying Your Salary

12 December 2008

I'm writing from my hotel room at the Holiday Inn near Heathrow. My flight for Denver is scheduled depart at 12.35 PM, but I figured I'd drop a short entry since I really don't want to walk up to the front desk and formally check-out. Why? I think it's, first, because that really is when it'll start sinking in that this semester is over, that I only have one more in England, only three more till I enter the real world of tax returns, mortgages, utility bills, and all those delightful things that my parents have been too happy to handle for the initial twenty-one years of my existence.

Second, the hotel staff here is mean. Last night I had to go to the front desk to get a replacement key because, having forgot that my money-clip contains a magnet, I had placed the keycard to my room there, which of course de-magnetised it. And throughout the entire transaction, the lady behind the front desk just had this disgusted look on her face as if her life suddenly sucked because a traveling university student had accidentally de-magnetised his keycard. No "Thank you." No "That's all right." No smiling. Nothing. Having worked in Target over the summer, I'm not a fan of the kind of facile courtesy and manufactured friendliness that most establishments consider to be the soul of customer service, but come on! I'm paying your salary.

Anyway, I need to check-out, get to the airport, go through security, find my gate--all the activities I particularly enjoy. Throw in a meal and a couple of bowel movements, and you pretty much have a synopsis of my day. I hope everyone is doing well, and I'll talk to you later.