Bed in a Box

The further adventures of sleeping elsewhere besides home, but not when on vacation, always brings some surprises. Last night was another "sleep in a hotel to review for my book" mini vacation. In the past, I have slept in some disappointing hotels, but for a new hotel, this one takes the cake. If first impressions matter, I named it Bed in a Box. Again, I will not divulge the name here, but the pictures will justify my impressions, I do believe. But let me start at the beginning. When I checked in, the front desk manager handed me an envelope while welcoming me to the hotel. Well, isn't that special! So I thought until reached the plain vanilla hallway to my room, devoid of decor other than a single plant in a cutout in the wall. Opening my welcome envelope, I found the usual tourist advertisements we give our own guests. Does anyone listen to me when I say "I LIVE HERE" or are they all on remote pilot and have a required need to maintain automation? There was one surprise in the envelope. A little sheet offering massages: Swedish, Honey, or Chocolate massage for 25 Euros an hour. For an additional 10 Euros, I could get a "Vacuum" massage or full body coiling. Now I had to wonder if this was in everyone's envelope or was I just special? If they had specified whether it was dark, bitter, or semi-sweet chocolate, I may have bit for the chocolate massage, but I am particular about my chocolate. The room is a box with a bed, period. I have felt firm mattresses before, but this was a slab. Pillows that refuse to change shape when you put your head of them, should be outlawed. It was fine for sitting up reading, but for sleeping, half of my body was at a forty-five degree angle. Two large windows made up the fourth wall. One opened six inches, while other looked like it was fitted as a door the balcony outside, but without a handle it was possible. Perhaps they were afraid that at these rates, guests would jump after realizing what a poor choice they had made, so why risk letting them out on the balcony. Then there was the sarcophagus shaped tub. Notice the similarities. Was I supposed to bath in it or wait for mummification to set in? I could not decide, but I would love to explore the mind of the decorator after he or she gets out of rehab. They must have been using something really potent when they came up with this idea. You cannot see the shower, but notice there is no door. Why bother?

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Universal Crankiness

Our dear Balazs called today, distraught to say the least. At first, I thought it was an issue in his life; he was speaking so fast and furious, I had to have him repeat it before understanding it was about us. He received a call from OUR building manager stating at the last apartment meeting there were two complaints about us. 1. We have too many guests who let the elevator door slam shut and they find it disturbing. 2. We have not swept and mopped our balcony to their satisfaction. Balazs started to tell me the cow story, but I stopped him assuring him I have heard it. Actually, in the last two weeks, I have heard four versions of it, but the outcome is always the same. Animal rights activists need to be checking up on all of these dead cows. If you don't know the story, it is in the immediately previous post. Using minimal critical thinking skills, I suggested that they fix the damn door. We took the initiative of putting a sign on both sides of the door in Hungarian and English asking that the door be held until it is closed gently. We also meet all guests at the elevator now to indoctrinate them in case, due to their excitement, they miss seeing the sign. I can count on both hands and then need a helping hand from others to count the number of times Hungarians who were not coming here, let the damn door slam shut. They claim it would cost too much to fix the door, so they would rather make a bigger racket complaining about it. We have inquired as to the cost of repair. It is cheaper to fix it than listen to them squawk about. At least they will have to be creative with finding something new that we do to irritate them. Mopping the balcony? Give me a break! I have never in 7+ years ever seen anyone mop the balcony. Since we are the first apartment in from the elevator on one side, it seems it is our responsibility to sweep and mop the balcony from the outer hallway door to the part past our windows. So here is my solution. We will mop, but then post signs saying "We have just mopped the balcony. Please remove your shoes from this point forward until you have past our windows. Those caught with shoes on will be asked to pay a toll. It has rained at least an hour for the last ten days. Are these people nuts?

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