I didn’t make my bed!

I’ve heard it said that if you spent a day watching other people in hotel rooms, you’d never stay in another hotel in your life. I like to think that if you watched me, you’d happily take my place.

I’m possibly a bit odd, (probably) maybe normal, (unlikely) perhaps well dragged up by my parents (very unlikely) but one thing I know is that I’ve always hated people doing things they shouldn’t have to for me. Even if they’re paid to.

When I leave a hotel room, I always like to leave it in as close to the condition as when I arrived as possible, but this morning, for the first time EVER, (and I stay in hotels a lot) I didn’t make the bed!!

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It was only when I was in my car heading to the office that the hideous realisation hit me. I’d come downstairs in a bit of a hurry, due to a rather tedious email, and then forgot to go back upstairs and carry out my morning ritual of bed making. I feel ashamed.

I remember once being in a very posh hotel in Budapest and dropping a coffee on the carpet. Instead of calling room service and telling them what a silly boy I’d been, I popped to the shop, bought the necessary cleaning products and cleaned said floor covering until it gleamed.

Another time, in a hotel in Stockholm, just recently, I dropped a glass of red wine on the cream rug next to the bed. It went straight into the shower and was washed, washed and rewashed until it was spotless.

I know hotels have staff to clean up, I know that they’re paid (poorly in general) to do it, but I can’t bear thinking about someone having to do something that I can do myself.

I’m going back to my hotel this lunchtime, desperately hoping my bed hasn’t been made, but feeling very shameful as I know it will have been.

 

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About bobleponge216

Elderly rotund toothless male seeks wilderness to travel to.
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4 Responses to I didn’t make my bed!

  1. Permit me, Sir, to respond with a brief tale.

    Back in the 1980s, in Tanzania, a young guy called Leslie worked for me as a night shift data input clerk. One night, he told me that he had finally reached the top of the five-year waiting list for a new bicycle. He had paid for it, and it had been delivered that very day. He was the happiest I had seen him for a long time. He told me it was outside, and asked if I would like to see it. Of course I would. When he brought it in, I couldn’t contain my disappointment. It was a simple bike, with no gears. It was badly adjusted for him, and came with no tools. Some spokes were loose, as were many other things. It had clearly not been through a PDI. All it needed to make it safely usable, was an few minutes with a screwdriver and a couple of spanners.

    “I will take it to the bicycle fundi to make it ready for me.” he said (fundi translates as technician, or skilled worker – the local bike repair guy).

    “Don’t do that.” I said, “Let me fetch a couple of tools – we can fix it up in a few minutes and save your money.”

    “But if I do that, Sir,” he replied, “how will the bicycle fundi feed his children?”

    Like

  2. as above says:

    That Mr B is because you have deep rooted emotional issues relating to your childhood, were you a bed wetter into your teens or as an E block resident therefore trying to cover up the ‘spillage’
    CB & Niles Crane, you never see them in the same room together !

    Like

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