Hotel Hell

This is a mash-up of a few real hotel stays:

I park in the lower level of the hotel’s bleak parking garage. The ground, ceiling and walls are all the same shade of washed out gray, creating the sensation of being trapped in a cold concrete box. I open a door labeled “Stairs to Hotel Lobby,” take a few steps, and then open a second door labeled “Stairs to Hotel Lobby.” I walk up the stairs. At the top, there is a door labeled “Lobby.” I walk through, and after just four feet, open another door labeled “Lobby.” I start to worry I’m in one of those horror movie mazes with doors that lead to nowhere. If I went back the way I came, would I return to my car, or would I realize I’m trapped in a never-ending hallway? I open one more door and finally emerge in the lobby.

The crusty front desk clerk offers me a cookie while I check in. He points to a lone blob on a doily.
“You should have it. It’s chocolate chip.”
“Oh, no thanks.”
“It’s really good and it’s the last one.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“But I baked it just for you.”
Awkward pause.
He clears his throat and starts hacking.
“Take it for later. A midnight snack.”
“No thank you,” I reply firmly.
I’m not usually paranoid that the hotel staff is trying to poison me, but tonight…

When I enter my room, I anxiously lock the deadbolt above the door handle. To my dismay, there is no deadbolt chain at the top of the door to make me feel extra secure. When I turn the door handle to check that it’s locked, the deadbolt clicks open. I lock it again and turn the handle for the same result. Damn. It’s one of those doors that unlocks whenever you turn the handle, which means there’s no way to test that it’s actually locked. I open and close the door hard, and lock it one more time for safe measure.

On the nightstand I find a welcome note addressed to Ms. Hodginson. Could the hotel have accidentally given out two keys to the same room? Will Ms. Hodginson barge into my/her room in the middle of the night, killing me with a heart attack? Or was the room not properly cleaned, and I might find her dead body stuffed in a closet? Or am I somehow Ms. Hodginson, this is hell, and I’m already dead?

I’ve seen way too many horror movies.

Next I examine the bathroom, which is terrifying in its vast whiteness. The cabinets are white, the floor tiles are white, the walls are white, the towels are white. You could comfortably fit a family of 8 in the bathroom, but just as easily squeeze in about 30 people. You could arrange 5 people standing at the sink mirror, 3 in the bathtub, 1 in the shower, and at least a dozen lounging on the floor in between. Trust me, I mapped this out. A normal woman would relish having so much space, but I only see the perfect movie set for an insane asylum. I picture mentally anguished women in their panties, with blood splashed all over the perfectly white tiles and streaking the walls.

I’m disturbed, I know.

I walk over to the enormous windows, and notice my room overlooks a shadowy parking lot. I try to close the drapes taut but they flop open. I pull them shut again, but they slide apart. I drag over a chair, tuck the drapes one over the other, and wedge the chair against the window.

I inspect the rest of the room, opening each closet and peeking under the furniture. I make sure there’s no Ms. Hodginson, rotting bodies, or lurking murderers. I open a door on the side wall, and find myself facing another door. Oh my god. A door to the neighboring room. I gasp in horror and slam my door shut. Are all the rooms in this hotel connected? What if my neighbor had opened his door at the exact same moment? We would have seen each other!! And what if my neighbor was wearing a ski mask and holding a chain saw? I vow not to open it again.

As I get ready for bed, twisted faces stare at me from paintings on the walls. A drunk old man with chapped skin. A pale suicidal woman from the 19th century. Their sick faces haunt the walls of the room. I drift off to sleep, but awake to the bed shaking demonically. It’s an angry poltergeist! No, it’s an earthquake! No, it’s just me, trembling from too much caffeine.

I hate hotels.