Friday, August 20, 2010

If Found Please Return to Room #__

One of my best friends was visiting Toronto on a job hunting adventure. Sarah was staying in a hotel for the weekend when I decided to visit her. From the top of the night, we could both tell it was going to be an evening to remember. It lived up to our expectations.


We ended up at a very nice restaurant on King St. They were booked solid but after some slight persuasion, they were able to find a table. This is where the madness began. The food was great but the wine was even better. We got the royal treatment with the chef sending out dessert and port on the house as well as an extra bottle of wine at no cost to us. Or at least not to our wallets, my dignity is another thing. So by this point it’s fairly late, we are 2 bottles of wine and a glass of port in the bag and ready to head back to the hotel. We wanted to ward off the hangover that was looming on the horizon, so we stopped at a convenience shop and each both a very large bottle of water.

Back at the hotel we changed into our pj’s, downed our bottles of water and said good night. This is the last part of the story that makes any sense to me.

My next memory is realizing that I was no longer in my bed, but that I was now standing in the hallway of the hotel...in a “kiss me I’m not Irish” t-shirt and my undies!!!! You can imagine my confusion. WHAT was I doing out here? At this point, I was still very disillusioned and disoriented. Since this was not my hotel room, I hadn’t made a point of remembering what the room number actually was. I did remember where it was in relation to the elevator.

At the time it seemed logical that I would just trace my steps from the elevator to the hotel room. So I did this a couples times until I was certain that I was outside the correct hotel room. So I knocked. Keep in mind, that it was now approximately 3am and I was dressed very inappropriately to be wondering around a hotel and randomly knocking on people’s doors.

No one answers.

I knocked again. Imagine my surprise, when the person who opens the door, isn’t Sarah, but a middle age man. He looked very confused. As mentioned above, I still had no idea why I was in the hallway, so I can only imagine that my explanation to him made little to no sense. I got out of there as fast as I could and started to work out plan#2.

“I have to go to the Lobby”

I was scared to take the elevator in fear that someone might see me. I wasn’t thinking that once I got to the lobby I was going to have to see people. So I took the stairs. A lot of stairs. Finally I emerged from the stairwell, barefoot, in my undies and my “kiss me I’m not Irish” t-shirt.

The Lobby is full of people. WHY???

Now everyone was staring at me. Rightfully so. I tried to act normal but I just managed to look more awkward than I already was. You know when you can tell that a person thinks you are crazy even before you open your mouth? This is the feeling that I had when I approached the front desk. I think the conversation went something like this:

Me: I can’t find my room.

Scared Man: Do you have a room here?

Me: No. My friend does, but I don’t remember the number.

Scared Man: Why are you not in the room?

Me: I’m not sure. I think I had to pee.

Scared Man: -Blank Stare- I can’t give you the number. You are going to have to call your “friend” and ask yourself.

I walked across the lobby to the courtesy phone and found my friends name. I called. No answer. I called again. Still no answer. I called again and Sarah picked up. I calmly tried to explain that I needed the room number and that I was in the lobby. Her response was “but why are you not in the room right now? Why did you leave?” Again, my answer was “I don’t know!!”

Finally, at least an hour later, I had the room number so I headed to the elevator. I figured that I had left the last bit of my dignity in the lobby as the crowd of people clapped and pointed. It was safe to take the elevator. As I got into the elevator, someone tried to give me a high five and the person already in there was completely dumbfounded.

The next morning when we finally woke up, I realized that I smelt like a camp fire. After going over the story with Sarah, I could not figure out when I would have come in contact with anything remotely smoky. I chalked it up to it just being an incredibly bizarre evening. We headed to Starbucks.

As we were having a coffee in Starbucks, we noticed a commotion going on down the street from out hotel. Fire trucks. A store was on fire! Sarah turned to look at me, eyes wide.

Me: I swear...it wasn’t me!

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