Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
I want to tell you a funny story today—well, now I think it’s funny, but I sure didn’t think so at the time. Crazy circumstances are like wine or cheese—they get better with time.
My sister, Chris (I call her Chrissie), was visiting me one spring. She usually comes down for a week at that time of year. She’s had it up to her eyeballs with a cold North Dakota winter and is ready for some fun in the sun. She’s been making that trip every year for several years, and we have a list of things we always like to do while also trying to add some new experiences.
One of the things we liked to do was make a drive up to Orlando. We had a beloved aunt who lived there, and we’d usually do a day at a Disney park, stay overnight, and then take our aunt out for lunch the next day.
A few years ago, Kevin made a hotel reservation for us at a Sheraton in Orlando. He’s been a long-time Marriott man, and Sheraton is a Marriott property. Fine! Great! We planned on spending most of our time at Epcot while we were in town, so we didn’t really care where we stayed. As long as there were beds and a toilet, we were good to go! (Literally.)
We arrived at the hotel early in the day—too early to actually check into our room. No matter. The spritely young lady at the desk said we’d get into our room lickety-split after our day at Epcot. We left our suitcases in the car and hopped on a bus to the park. We weren’t staying on Disney property, but many hotels provide transportation to the parks, as it’s the primary reason their guests are there.
We covered every square inch of that park! We ate lunch in China, pastries in France, and drank English beer in Canada. We cooled off in the American building while listening to some fabulous a cappella singers. We found a bench to sit on to listen to them. Sure, we were looking at their backsides the whole time, butt (pun intended) it was a nice respite from the crowds outside. We made it till the last of the fireworks lit up the night sky! What a day! Exhausted, we made the journey to meet our bus.
Now, if you stay at a Disney hotel, your buses are conveniently located near the exit. The rest of us schmucks who deigned to stay off property? We had to walk six miles to the farthest reaches of the parking lot to meet our bus.
A bunch of us weary souls waited for our bus, and it seemed like every hotel under the sun except the one for the Sheraton was pulling up. What seemed like three days later, our bus arrived and picked us up, taking us back to the hotel.
It was now past 11:00 pm, and the spritely gal from earlier was off duty. In her place was a tall, dapper-looking man. I told him we’d like to check in, please, that the reservation would be under my husband’s name—Kevin Thomas.
This is where the funny-now part starts.
The man at the desk grimaced and asked me if the reservation was indeed in my husband’s name, to which I yawned and answered, “Yes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, we can’t let you check in, ma’am. Only the person whose name it’s under.”
I told him my husband had made hotel reservations for me many times and that I’d never had a problem before. He gave me an “oh, you poor little dumb thing” look and said something about in Orlando, they wouldn’t allow that, being a city with so many tourists there for entertainment, blah blah blah. . . . And then! And then, he said, “Suppose your husband has checked in already, and you’d be walking into his room, and he’s there with someone else! The room is in his name, and we have to respect his privacy.”
What in the name of Mickey Mouse???
I started looking around the lobby to find a comfy couch because we weren’t going anywhere! He said he’d go talk to his manager and left his desk. I walked over to my sister, who was sitting, almost asleep, in a lobby chair and told her what was happening. I tried texting and calling Kevin, but he was in Phoenix at a business meeting and not picking up his phone.
Chrissie and I were determined we’d sleep in the #@%&* lobby if they wouldn’t give us our room. So—we started getting ready for bed. We opened our suitcases, dug out our pajamas, and laid them out on our chair-beds. We took turns in the lobby bathroom, washing our faces, brushing our teeth, and taking out contacts. If they didn’t let us into our room, we’d “make do” right there in the front lobby.
OK, here comes Desk Man with Manager Guy in tow. He looked at me with a patronizing smile. However, Manager Guy wasn’t going to budge. Policy, you know. Thank the good Lord above, just at that moment, my cell phone rang. Kevin. Phew.
Now, I need to pause for a moment and clarify something. You do NOT want to mess with my husband when his family has been wronged. All I can say is that you will be in for it. You will be really, really, really sorry. Don’t get me wrong, Kevin is not unreasonable; he just will defend his family to the nth degree, whatever that is, and you might possibly end up crying and asking for forgiveness afterward.
I answered the phone, and I could tell by the tone of Kevin’s voice he’d read my texts, listened to my voicemails, and understood the pickle Chrissie and I were in. I asked Manager Guy if talking directly to my husband would help, and he nodded. The poor dumb thing, I thought. He has no idea what he’s in for.
I handed the phone to Manager Guy and wished him good luck.
I couldn’t hear what Kevin was saying, but Manager Guy managed, “No sir . . . . But, Sir . . . No, Sir . . . No, Sir . . . No, age has nothing to do with it, Sir . . . . ” and that was that. After the call, Manager Guy’s patronizing smile was gone, and I think he may have wet his pants. But we got our room. Later, I asked Kevin what that remark was about “age having nothing to do with it.”
“Oh,” said Kevin, “I said, ‘Do you think a couple of middle-aged women are going to wreak havoc in your hotel?'” Not for nothing, but we were wreaking a bit of havoc right there in the lobby. Just sayin’.
Bone-tired, we made it to our room and crashed into our beds.
So, what’s the moral of the story? I actually had no idea, but told my sister I wanted to write about this, but didn’t know what the point was . . . and she had it:
Stick-to-it-iveness!
Sometimes, you just have to hang in there and work extra hard for what’s right! And, yes, it helps to be married to a superhero, which I definitely am.
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
P.S. – We’re heading up to Wisconsin in a few days! I’m going to take a little break from writing these letters while I’m there. I’ll be back at it in August. Have a wonderful summer, my friend!