Gomer at the Four Seasons

I hope I get to work with Houghton Mifflin again. If I didn’t already love my editor and designer and publicists, just the hotel is incentive enough. My goodness. As you might have inferred from the previous post, I do not habitually stay at the Four Seasons. I’m far more used to the Comfort Inn. That’s not to say I couldn’t get used to the Four Seasons real fast. I had to suppress a Gomer Pyle style “Gawww-leee!” when I walked in the front lobby and saw hundreds of real pink daffodils and callas in glass block vases on every table.
I felt kind of bad. There were two plasma TV’s in my room and I never turned either one on. There was a spa and a health club that I never used. The hot stone massage sounded fine, but I think Houghton would have noticed the $140 charge. I liked the hotel staff a lot. They were really young and friendly and helpful. Maybe too helpful. When I left my room for as little as two hours, I’d come back and all the lights I’d turned off were blazing again. The Kleenex and apple core I’d thrown in the trash can were gone. The washcloth I’d used was replaced with a clean one. The end of the toilet paper was refolded into a little V. In the evening, a pair of slippers would magically appear at my bedside, and all the lights would be blazing when I’d come back to my room.
I don’t know how they do that. I think they have spies. I think they take a picture of you with a hidden camera when you check in and then their spies, dressed as maids and bellhops, report back on you when you leave the room. That’s probably why they ask you where you’re going, so they can see if they have time to empty the trash and refold the TP.
Some panties and a T-shirt I left on the floor were folded and put on a shelf when I came back. Now, that’s going a little far. Maybe I wanted my clothes in a little heap. Maybe I like coming back to a dark room. If I stayed there too much longer I’d probably say something to them about wasting energy.

I was bemused to note that Internet access was still an extra $10 a day. Has anybody else noticed this immense scam going on all over the world? I mean, once you’ve put it in and paid for it, should it really cost $10 a day to get online? It’s free at the Comfort Inn. Pffft. Nice place to blog from, though. Boston weather being what it is, before I went out I’d feel the window glass, then check to see what people were wearing on the street, to see which coat I should take. You can’t go by what teen-agers are wearing. They run around in T-shirts and shorts when it’s 28 degrees. No, you have to check the forty-somethings who’ve learned how to dress for cold.

This room had everything. But I got out of the shower and couldn’t find the hairdryer. There had to be a hairdryer. The bathroom looked like a place Marie Antoinette would be comfortable. She wouldn’t bat an eye: no anachronisms here. Obviously, an ugly plastic hairdryer perched on the wall by the sink was out of the question. I rooted around and finally found it, concealed in a little cloth drawstring bag on a glass table. Staying at this hotel, I felt like I had enrolled in a crash course in good taste.
One-bazillion count Egyptian cotton sheets do feel better than poly cotton 10-count sheets. Thirsty Egyptian terry cloth towels dry your hair better than crispy K-mart towels. The differences are slight but noticeable. I can understand why, given money and exposure to such luxuries, people get to thinking they can’t live without such things. I’m a long way from that point, but I do enjoy pretending. So pass me my martooni, Lovey, and let’s chat about our day, shall we? Let’s!