My Chicago Hotel

I am in the weirdest hotel right now. At times it goes above and beyond the nicest resorts I've ever seen, and at other times it's less functional than a Motel 6. Overall, though, I like it.

When I arrived, I had to take stairs up to the lobby. Not totally odd, but usually there's an elevator or escalator for second floor lobbies. Turns out there is an elevator, but it's carefully concealed. When I checked in they asked if I'd like to partake in the wine reception. I looked around. Turns out, every night there's a wine reception for all the guests, no extra charge! All you can drink! Good wines too. Between delays and horrible cab rides, my 2 hour flight was the center of a trip that took 7 hours door to door. I hadn't eaten in even longer than that, and apparently I got drunk on I-forget-how-many glasses. Pretty swanky for a hotel though. Then, I got a free hand massage! They had a professional at the reception. My hands still smell great, and this was hours ago. Pretty ritzy so far.

Then I went upstairs to check out my room. On the left as I walked in, I saw double-doors with the kind of handles that don't move relative to the doors in which they're embedded. On the right was a single door with a turn-knob. I had to go to the bathroom, so I turned to the right. Almost made a mess of the closet. That's right, the closet doors led to the bathroom, and the normal door led to the closet.

In the closet, where one would expect to find extra towels or sheets or pillows or a bathrobe, is a set of leopard-print boxers and camisole (of matching pattern). I'm going to repeat that. My hotel room contains A LEOPARD PRINT CAMI AND BOXERS.

The room is quite nice. Big comfortable bed, free fast internet, and a giant flatscreen HD TV. Temperature control works great. But then there's no outlet. There are no fewer than 4 phone/cable jacks in the room, but I couldn't find an electrical outlet. I know there has to be one, because lamps are on and the clock works, but I can't find it. Turns out there's one behind the bed and one behind the dresser with the TV on top. Drunk as I was, I rearranged all the furniture in my room. Now everything is back where it was, and my laptop is plugged in. I just realized I'm going to have to do it again to recharge my cell phone, and once more before I leave.

Sitting next to me is a wonderfully functional and beautiful set of glasses on a silver tray with matching ice bucket. I've been up and down every hallway on my floor, and I can say with certainty that there is no ice machine. OK then.

So I'm sitting here in my swanky PoMo hotel room, next to an eternally empty ice bucket, staring at a wall with enough repeating ovals and rectangles to make me consider taking LSD so I'll hallucinate something a little more down to earth. I'm drunk on free wine and relaxed from a fantastic hand massage, confused about the bathroom doors and the contents of my closet, and feeling Chuck's perpetual longing for ice. I see the "charging" icon in the corner of my laptop's screen, and I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. The free bottled water the front desk gave me is of exceptionally high quality, and I find it quite tasty. Sobriety can't be far away now.

People really like Obama out here.

(Special thanks to Cookie, who made my night by having Chicago-style pizza with me.)