I’m going to tell you a secret: I don’t get out a lot. Shocking, I know. I seem so worldly and wild.
Over fifty-five percent of me is a socially awkward quasi-imbecile. Any time I go somewhere (new or old) it takes me a minute to adjust. My head gets all twirly. Think of a little kid seeing something for the first time or a cat distracted by a shiny object. That sums me up.
Then there’s my other side. I’m a friendly lady. I’ll talk to almost anyone. I want to know their deal. If a rock could talk, I’d know its story.
I recently realized hotel workers have need to know interesting (dirty) stories.
A couple of weeks ago my family stayed at a hotel. Seven people in one little room made me ponder the meaning of life.
I thought about free stuff, unlimited hot water, and about the crazy things hotel workers witness. I’m kicking myself for not asking more questions. Inquiring minds (mostly nosy me for writing material) are dying to know the vague details.
That’s right. I said vague details. (makes total sense in my head)
I want all of the dirty little insider secrets minus any of the names or photographic evidence to involve me in any legal issues.
I’ll let the hotel staff start the story and then my imagination will take over.
Hotel staff: What if a man check into the hotel alone…
My turn: …and a little later, like 17 minutes or something, I don’t know, working with vague details here, a professional woman (hooker, she’s a hooker) arrives and asks for his room number. What then? (sex that’s what)
Hotel staff: What if a group of young college coeds decide to take a dip in the pool…
My turn: …Oops! No one packed bathing suits! But they go swimming anyway. Calm down “Girls Gone Wild” watchers. Is that already an episode? (note to self: Google that later)
OR how about this wild scenario:
Hotel staff: What if a mom says only two adults and two children will be staying in a room with two queen beds…
My turn: …and she arrives with her family of seven, requests a cot, uses five million gallons of hot water, and returns to the lobby no less than 15 times to procure any and all free things from the complimentary snack station? (Surprise: I’m that mom.)
I was slightly concerned (edit: para-fucking-noid) the hotel staff might say something about the extra kids, so when the cot arrived I made a couple of my offspring hide in the bathroom. Totally normal thing to do. Husband told me to “Relax.”
Now, he said: “Relax.”
But I heard: “Stop being a bitch.”
Now, I’m not sure what planet that goes over well on, but I assure you we don’t reside there.
Anyway, during a long, hot bath, I did relax. And I started to think.
I remembered a certain trip Husband and I took years ago to a glorious place that required a passport and a plane ride. It was a delightful adult only excursion for our tenth anniversary.
One morning husband and I awoke from an evening of rated higher than R action and we went for a walk on the beach. After we returned from our walk and a scrumptious breakfast buffet—food always tastes better when I don’t have to cook it—we noticed the housekeeper had been to our room.
No big deal. I like fresh towels.
Then I remembered what we left lying around the room.
I’m going to spare you from too many details, but let’s just say there’s a website that sells some stuff. And prior to leaving for said fun ADULT vacation, a box (possibly plural) arrived at our home. Yup. We’d taken all that stuff with us. In our luggage. That went through x-ray machines and security checks. We had left ALL of that stuff all over the room.
My eyes were drawn to the office desk in the corner.
Our stash of fun playthings was on this desk; organized by size, color, and flavor (don’t you judge me). Arranged so neatly that I was simultaneously mortified and impressed. I might have taken a picture.
I tell you my hotel story to remind you: Even I have a dirty little hotel secret. So this is how I am positive hotel staff have seen it all and have fantastic stories to tell!
I should go undercover as a hotel employee and make a lot of mental notes. Desk clerk person isn’t going to cut it. The real dildo dirt is in housekeeping.
Do you have a funny hotel (motel – no judgment) story? Share your story with me! Or maybe it’s your “friend’s” story. We can play it that way. If you’re too embarrassed to have your name appear with the story (i.e. it’s obviously a great story) email it to me and I’ll post it anonymously.
Thank you for reading!
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