From my home yesterday, it took me just under two hours to reach Belfast in Northern Ireland. Five years living in this country and, yet 98 minutes, a thick dialog and funny looking coins can still throw me.
When can there ever be a coin system where size of coin is relevant to its value? The American in me will always spot a penny in a bushel, but never a pence in a pocket.
Also, tell me, people of world, how can we, collectively, allow one sound to have so many interpretations? Can this wee word we use have wee meaning outside of when my girls have to wee before playing their wii? Oui.
My hotel is actually very nice. The staff is mighty nice, but thus far they’re not the most informed on customers' needs and solutions.
Last night I was told WIFI in my room would be an additional charge, but that in the lobby and bar WIFI was free of charge. Funny enough, I booted up in the luxury of my room tonight and viola! the same free connection exists.
Though last night downstairs did work for me as I enjoyed a glass of wine. Going on the misinformation, this morning I did a sleepy walk down the many flights of stairs (they do have elevators here, but I’m trying to be good for the bod!). I logged into email and proceeded to have a tumultuous morning in the office, I mean, lobby bar turn virtual office.
I’m thinking now I should’ve had vodka with my OJ.
Anyway, showtime nears and I scurry up to my room via the elevator (yeah, I may be big on exercise, but I’m not out-of-breath-stupid. Six flights of stairs? Come on people!)
Preparing to shower, I, in my bathrobe, ring the front desk and request an iron:
“May I please get an iron sent to my room?” says me.
“Yes, you can. You’ll have to come to reception to collect the iron," says she.
Excuse me, but isn’t that a poorly disguised ‘no’ to my question? Just checking. Wee bit frazzled ‘cause I’m monitoring the time, but hey, I’m not a hotel snob, I’m above noone. And yet, I still I have my demands:
“Is there an iron there now? If I come down right now, will there be an iron?” Only a multi-tasking mother knows to ask.
I look at it like this: if you’re going to inconvenience me, please make it as painless as possible. Like his Friday-pint night when DH calls at 11pm looking for a lift home from the pub. My only question after I say yes, is, “Are you going to be waiting outside?”
And like my DH, only in her Northern accent, the lady at the desk complies with a friendly “Aye”.
So I redressed and once again took the stairs, this time, two at a time. Very soon, I found myself facing six hotel staff at reception. Six. Count ‘em. Focus, Sherry, focus. I asked nicely for the iron. The iron, that, clearly would’ve left this crowd of staff shorthanded had it been delivered to me.
The lady behind the counter looked around and in all of two seconds, she came back with this:
“We don’t have one right now. We only have a limited number of irons.” She says.
Now people, you can’t even ask DH what happens when he is not there when I’ve asked if he’ll be there. Because he knows. And because he knows, he's never disappointed me. Now I’ve been inconvenienced for no good reason and I’m tardy in a very wrinkly skirt.
I could drag on and on and tell you how it went down, but I won’t. Just know it involves a manager, an executive room with iron and an iPod streaming my favorites, including Bob Marley.
And yes, this time I walked up the six flights of stairs.