Earlier this week, I mentioned the names of some of my favorite hotels on this blog. As a result, an employee of one of the hotels sent me an email to thank me for the good PR. She invited me to meet her at the hotel for a gift of appreciation. I thanked her, but told her how much I hate trying to find parking downtown. She said, "valet park, I'll take care of it." I cannot resist anything as long as someone will "take care of it." I would probably have a root canal if my dentist said, "I'll take care of it."
I met her at the full-service Starbucks (Dear Starbucks, I really, really like green tea lattes with soy milk). She bought me a latte and handed me a box of hotel soaps and a little green notebook with a pen, "keep writing," she encouraged me. I wish that I had written about how much I like those little tiny bottles of vodka in the wet bar in the room. Then, maybe she would have given me the notebook and pen as well as a box of tiny vodkas as a token of appreciation (Dear Ketel One, I really, really like your vodka). Regardless, I am pretty happy with the gift because I love free stuff and the pen even works. I am pretty sure that she skimmed the soaps off the little housekeeping cart or from a storage room, which makes me like it even more. If anyone who works at the Doubletree hotel is reading this, I really, really like the fresh baked cookies, especially when they are still warm.
Another place that I really like is Target. There is nothing in Target that I don't need. Even if I don't think that I need an item, if I don't buy it, I am sure that I will need it in under a week (Dear Target, I really, really like your gift certificates. They are the gift that always fits).
I went to Target and had a blue Icee. I don't know what flavor blue is, but I like how my tongue changes color when I drink them. I was in the specialty light bulb aisle when I suddenly had to pee. I detest public restrooms. I can pretty much determine my emotional state by my reaction to public restrooms. When I am living in a state of denial, I will wait until I am home to pee. When I am feeling obsessive compulsive, I will refuse to touch anything and wait for someone else to open the door to avoid touching anything. When I am feeling ADD, I will apply a fresh coat of lipstick and make a phone call and test out all the soap dispensers. Public restrooms are a good gauge of mental health.
The restroom was spotless and as I am apparently feeling disabled, I choose the handicapped stall near the wall. I love the big stall. I especially love it when there is a sink of my own in the stall. I make a big production of washing my hands in there in the event that someone else in the restroom thinks that I didn't wash my hands after using the bathroom. I always announce something over the stall door like, "hey, there is really great water pressure in the sink in here. I bet you wish that you had a sink in your stall." I don't want anyone thinking that I am a disgusting individual.
The handicapped stall at Target is right next to the diaper changing station. There is a friendly reminder to never, ever leave your baby unattended while using the diaper changing station. It is very polite and does not seem like nagging at all. Does the men's room have diaper changing stations?
As I was splashing about loudly in the private and yet, accessible sink, a woman entered the restroom to change her baby's diaper. She let down the changing table and spread out a changing pad and lovingly laid the baby on it. Through the stall door, I could hear her pull open the little adhesive tabs on the disposable diaper. I turned the lock and opened the stall door to exit. I couldn't get out. I was trapped by the woman who could not leave her baby unattended. The table blocked me from exiting the stall. I made awkward smalltalk. "There is a sink in here," I said. She gave me a look of pity as though she could tell that I was retarded and that was the reason that I was using the handicapped stall. "No really, want to see?" I gestured to the sink. She gave me the same look. I was making things worse.
She was a doting mother and even warmed the wipes in her hands before wiping the baby's pink a$$ which was pointed directly at me. I fumbled in my purse for something to entertain myself with so that I wouldn't be forced to watch the procedure. I didn't want her to think that I was a perverted retard.
Finding nothing, I went back to my private sink and washed my hands 26 more times.
Maybe I am feeling obsessive compulsive after all.