You can check out anytime you like, but you can never sleep

I was on the road recently doing my weekend job (code writer for Cyberdyne’s top-secret Artificial Intelligence lab) and stayed a couple nights at a hotel. It was a nice hotel, with concierge service, in-room breakfasts, a couple swimming pools.

The beds were big, the pillows soft, the sheets clean. The view from my balcony was nothing special, but it wasn’t a filthy, garbage-strewn alley, either.

In my many years on the road with my weekend job (neurosurgeon), I’ve stayed in worse hotels, some far worse. So you might suppose I enjoyed myself, slept like a baby, and was happy with the chance to revel in a little R&R.

I didn’t and wasn’t. Why?

For one thing, when I’m forced to travel for my weekend job (spelunker), I do so solo; The Lovely Mrs. Taylor isn’t with me and I’m forced to sleep alone. After all these years, I have a hard time nodding off without the gentle (if a chain saw may be considered gentle) cadence of her snoring.

I suppose I could tie an angry grizzly to one corner of the bed and get it riled up just before turning in, thereby approximating the sound of Mrs. T’s nighttime reverberations, but it just wouldn’t be the same.

Then there’s the fact that the housekeeping staff of every hotel I’ve ever stayed at absolutely refuses to pay any attention whatsoever to the “Do Not Disturb” sign sticking from my keycard slot. My weekend job (vampire) requires I stay up most of the night. I rarely get to bed before 4 a.m., so I want—I need—to sleep all day.

My nocturnal habits are of no consequence to the woman who wants to collect my dirty towels, however. She wants those towels and she means to get them.

My Saturday went something like this:

4:15 a.m.—Climb into bed, dead tired. Watch bad movie starring the Sheen brother nobody knows for 20 minutes. Fall asleep with remote in hand.

9 a.m.—Wake to someone rapping tentatively on the door. “Who is it?” I mumble. “Housekeeping,” says a voice from the other side. “I don’t need anything,” I say. “I’m staying another night.” “Oh, OK,” says the voice. “I’ll mark it on the chart.” I fall back into bed and am asleep before my head hits the pillow.

10 a.m.—Wake up to sound of someone rapping on my door. “What?” I say to the closed door. “Housekeeping,” says the voice. I repeat my earlier comments about staying a second night and assure the voice I don’t need anything but sleep. I return to bed.

10:30 a.m.—I wake to the sound of someone rapping, rapping, rapping. Poe’s raven wasn’t this persistent. This time I go to the door and throw it open. If the sight of me in boxer shorts doesn’t get them to leave me alone, nothing will! It’s housekeeping. I let her come in to change the sheets while I shower and shave.

Sometimes you just have to admit defeat.

Sunday night I was home again, in my own bed, Mrs. Taylor snoring softly (if by “softly” you mean “like thunder”) beside me.

Next time I’m forced to travel for my weekend job (Hollywood weasel wrangler) I’m going to chain that grizzly to the door of my room and make sure it’s hungry. That should do it.

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or places one may punch hotel staffers without leaving a mark, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Miss a week? More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com/advancenewspapers.