Hotel Guests From Home

Where we were driving was not my originally intended destination. Three weeks before, we had booked all our nights at the Jamison Inn at Palm Bay, but now we had someplace much closer to go. I always sort of dread making reservations for a hotel I know nothing about because you just never quite know what you’re in for. Will it be a fleabag motel? Are you destined to spend the night next to the ice machine or a roaring party? Is it really a new and clean as the pictures make it or has it been worn out by two decades worth of weary travelers and revilers and in bad need of a serious gutting?

Thanks to the Internet, we could at least see what other people had to say about their experiences at one place or another. It’s still kind of tricky because peoples’ perceptions are so radically different. Still, no one likes rude staff, closed pools or extra, unexpected room guests in the form of bed bugs. The Jamison had looked clean, the staff well liked and it was reasonably priced…with a pool! The one problem that I had come up against was that it was far away from our destination. About an hour or so, actually.

With the Shuttle’s carrier coming to a swift end, people had once again raised their heads and taken notice of the program and there was urgency now for those who cared to see it but hadn’t mustered the initiative to actually do something about it yet. If you wanted to see a launch, you’d better move fast. And people had. In the process, we last-minuters had bought up every viewing ticket and booked just about every room within reasonable driving distance. This put Short Stack and I at Palm Bay. “An hour in the car isn’t so bad” I had rationalized… but had forgotten about that first day. It would mean an hour drive down to the South East, checking in, sleeping for a couple fitful hours and then driving for an hour to the North East, completing a huge, two hour “V” by the time we finally made it to the Space Center.

While talking about this with my wife two nights before I left with our son, she made the point that we didn’t actually have to spend the whole time at the Jamison.

“Why don’t you book some place in Orlando for the first night?”

“Because… well… it’s Orlando. It’ll cost an absurd amount of money and so will everything else.”

I have a hard time with Orlando.

Being a home for Disney World, Sea World, Universal Studios, the Orange County Convention Center and roughly twenty three thousand restaurants and hotels, the place is built with one goal in mind. Money. Specifically, YOUR Money.

I have never, in all my travels, seen a place that is more geared to sucking your wallet dry then Orlando, Florida. Everything costs and it costs in astonishingly large amounts. If they could charge for the air, I have no doubt that they would. I have traveled more inexpensively through Switzerland than through here and I wanted to avoid it as much as possible. I always dread going to Orlando.

“It’s a big place you know. You don’t have to go downtown.”

“Yah… but…” I was getting squirmy. I was letting my natural repulsion of paying for twenty-two dollar hamburgers affect my judgment and I knew it. “It’s Orlando. I really don’t want to stay there if I can help it.

As I whined about having to navigate the nightmare of International Drive without a copilot, she dutifully ignored me while finding a quick and semi-affordable solution.

“There! You can stay there for the first night!”

“Night” was a dubious word to choose since we would actually be checking out on the same day as our arrival, but she was right in that is was a neat solution. Right near the airport was a new and shiny Hyatt Hotel. It was geared to business travelers, had a pool and restaurant and was miles from the tourist traps, which could, I was sure, already smell my credit cards from here.

“Look, it’s only about five minutes away from where you fly in. That way you get an extra hour of sleep and one less driving on unfamiliar roads.”

She had a good point.

“Well…” I could feel my budget slipping away like sand through the fingers of my convictions.

“And an extra hour of sleep means that you will be more rested to drive and thus keep our son safer. I’m booking it.”

That last bit was impossible to argue against and so, now I found my self on the afternoon of our arrival pulling in to the parking lot of the Hyatt for the shortest hotel stay of my life.

Lugging out our giant suitcase and smaller bags, I hesitated over bringing the stroller. Did I really need that? Short Stack was bounding around like a ping-pong ball on a sugar rush as he gleefully checked out all the unfamiliar plants in the gardens and commented on the palm trees. “Look at that one! It’s so tall and funny looking!”

He was a bundle of enthusiasm and it seemed foolish to lug yet another thing in with me when I would need to lug it back out again in just a few hours. I went back and forth on this a few times as I stood at the open trunk.

“No. Bring it. You may not need it, but if you do, you’ll want it on hand.”

I often talk out loud to my self in situations like this. Some might seek medication, but I’ve decided to embrace my vocal self advice since it tends to be good. Plus, it helps keep the seat next to me empty on long trips.

With some light cursing and knuckle scraping, I lugged it all out and pointed the mass in the direction of the front doors. My jeans, so perfect for the northern weather I had just left, were now working against me under the strain of my load and the heat of the Florida sun. I couldn’t wait to get inside and into a bathing suit.

“Daddy, Is there a pool here? Can we go swimming?”

Apparently, I wasn’t alone.

Inside, I headed directly for Check In.

“Let me check your reservation and we can get you all set…”

The young woman behind the counter smiled happily as she looked into our booking. Short Stack was doing his best to contain himself, but the hours of sitting still were starting to show. The boy had energy squirting out his ears and the pull of the lobby furniture was finally too much for him. With a glance back at me to make sure he wasn’t about to get scolded for scooting too far from reach, he happily crawled up on an ottoman roughly the size of his toddler bed and was immediately lost in an imagined world of his own making. There’s something about ottomans. Kids just can’t resist them.

I kept an eye on my son to check any behavior that could cause damage to him, the furniture or his reputation as a well behaved child, but I was sympathetic as well. He had been doing a great job and had easily burned up at least three days worth of patience in the last twelve hours.

“Here you go sir. You’re in room four-oh-five. The Elevators are just around the corner.”

I accepted the little plastic credit card that is used in lieu of good old fashioned metal keys these days and chuckled at the fact that she had handed me two. I trust my boy and everything, but I had serious doubts that he would even be able to reach the key slot in the door, let alone open it. That, and I wasn’t crazy. While we were in Florida, the only time he was going to be out of my line of sight was when I was in the shower. “I think we’ll be good with one key.” I replied with a smile and slid one back. “Oh, will there be someone on desk duty at eleven tonight? We’re heading out to see the Shuttle launch and need to be checked out.”

“Oh, yes! That’s no problem at all. Are you excited to see the launch?”

That last statement was directed at my ottoman surfing son a few feet away and I had to say his name two or thee times to snap him out of what ever game he had concocted for himself to answer her. “She’s asking you a question, buddy. Are you excited?”

With the realization that he has just been included in the conversation, his head snapped up and he smiled as he nodded vigorously. Then, to drive his enthusiasm home, he quickly pointed a tiny index finger up, squinted one eye shut for better effect and started emitting some very convincing rocket noises as his adlibbed rocket slowly traveled skyward.

I turned back to the check in girl. “Oh, yah. He’s excited.”

As soon as we had managed to find the room and successfully drag in what seemed like a foolish amount of luggage, Short Stack was gleefully checking the beds and sofa for bounciness. He was wired and I was exhausted. I put thing down, changed into a pair of shorts and clicked on the wall sized television for no other reason than the novelty of having a television to click on. We’ve been without one since some time in the mid nineteen-nineties but I sill reflexively click them on when I have one at had. I wasn’t ready for what I saw.

Our room was very nice and well put together but narrow and this combined with a flat screen television that was big enough to make into a ping pong table meant that figures on television were pretty much life size. That, and because of the thing being mounted at head height, it was almost like having someone peaking at you through an electronic window. That alone might be a tad unnerving, but when you have traveled over a thousand miles away from your home out on an island in the Gulf of Maine, check into an airport hotel and are left looking at the life sized face of your neighbor, Nancy when you click on the tube… well… that’s just beyond weird.

I had to call home.

“Hey Honey! Did you get to the hotel okay? How’s our little traveler holding up?” She sounded perky.

“It’s great. He’s great. Guess what…” I told my wife who was on TV.

“What? Nancy? You mean from home?”

“Yup. I’m looking at her right now. She’s being interviewed.” Short Stack, oblivious to the madness of this, contented himself with leaping from one bed to the other.

“That’s just weird”

I agreed.

As it turned out, our fellow islander was being interviewed for a travel segment being run on the Weather Channel. As I stood in my room in Orlando, telling my wife about our flight down, I watched images of our little main street and post office flash by. The front door to our one and only little market opened and faces whom I could put names to, walked in and out as usual. It felt almost as if I was spying on what was happening back home. It was very surreal.

With the segment concluded and my wife’s curiosity assuaged, it was time to find some fun. I was pretty sure that if we didn’t, Short Stack was going to eventually start running across the ceiling. In record time, we had both been slathered in sun block, dressed in our swimming trunks and one short elevator ride later, floating in the pool.

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4 Responses

  1. I don’t think I’ve ever read about someone’s experience checking into a hotel before … maybe Hunter S. Thompson’s once. hee hee!

    • I’ll happily accept that company! I think I would have enjoyed hanging around with Hunter, but probably not sharing a hotel room with him. 🙂

      Actually, I think hanging around with Hunter would have given me a heart attack, but it’s fun to think about. Heh.

      -TP

  2. Again you’ve lucked out. You know what “they” say, “the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory!”

    • The victory was sweet indeed. Hotels can go so bad and this one was really very good. I was a little worried because our room was RIGHT across from the elevators but the place was new enough for there to be some really top notch sound insulating in the walls and doors. What a relief!

      That, and we were hardly there from more than a few hours. 🙂

      -TP

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