Inn Ocence Lost

There's nothing like hotel living. Don't get me wrong, I'm a bigtime homebody. I love the familiar comforts of home and, no matter how social I can be, nesting is a specialty of mine. But there's just something primal about invading a space and claiming it as your own.

First of all, it's exciting to be in a strange, new place. The first thing I do when I check into a room, is go exploring. I sniff around in all the drawers and snoop in all the closets, fully aware that I won't find anything all that interesting. Still, there's a certain satisfaction in the act. As if I were suddenly transformed into a wide-eyed cat, testing my claws on every surface, doing everything but spraying the curtains to mark my territory.

Secondly, I love the sheer abundance of it all! The place is yours to use and abuse. After all, a magical maid will slip in when you're not looking sometime the next day. She'll set everything perfect again with just the wrinkle of her nose. So, without a care in the world, you can go through several shampoo bottles during your stay. Brand new full ones will appear before you've used even an eight of the first one...and there'll be one leftover for you to take home for your troubles. You can leave trash lying on the floor just outside the wastebaskets. Who cares? Your whole room is your wastebasket now!

Then you can down baby bottles of booze from the mini bar, oblivious to any credit card damage they incur. Once you're nice and buzzed, you can order room service, feasting on hamburgers and cheesecake in bed. And you don't even have to bother to brush away any crumbs...why, you can even use the comforter as a napkin! And towels? Those are my favorite! As soon as you've dried off your satiated body, you can simply toss that nice, fluffy white towel on the floor. Maybe you'll even make the effort to kick it behind the toilet. You know, to make sure the maid understands that you are no longer in need of its service.

During a recent hotel stay, something happened to deprive me of all these wonderful joys. As I made my way into the bedroom, I noticed a card on the plush pillow of the neatly made bed. I leaned down to read it and it all but screamed back at me: "Help protect our environment! Conserve your towels, sheets and toiletries!"

At first I felt a softening in my soul, followed by a small pang of guilt for how much I had planned to reek havoc in this sweet, unsuspecting suite. But eventually, the guttural, gluttonous part of me won out and I found myself drowned again in all of my usual habits.

But on the final day, I stepped out of the tub and turned to the vanity in sudden shock. There, in the reflected fluorescent light of the bathroom mirror, was the horror of what I had become. A creature with bloated, paled skin. Pimples as large and as colorful as M&Ms covered my face. My eyes were bloodshot, my chest sunken. But most frightening of all was the look of pure greed that had been quickly etched into my face over those few days.

Slowly, I picked up a dirty, damp towel from the floor and dried myself off. I returned the shampoo bottles from my suitcase to their rightful spot beside the faucet and cleaned away all of the crumpled paper and rotting food. I resolved that next time I would remember the lesson that "complimentary" doesn't mean "take anything that isn't bolted down". I'd do it not just for the maid or the environment, but for myself.

And I'd also remember to bring a few candles to bathe by. Those fluorescent lights really are hell in a hotel.