I walk down a drab corridor lined with institution green doors. The lighting is minimal. Am I in a prison?
Find my room - the door rattles in the frame.
Turn on the lights - is that it? A single bulb glows dully on the wall. The other switch doesn’t appear to do anything.
Nice full length mirror - pity I can't see myself in it.
Put my clothes in the closet - can't see much in there either.
Go in the bathroom - the floor is wet (they fix it the next day)
Have a bottle of complementary water - 'we are pleased to offer our distinguished guests this bottle of Acqua Panna natural spring water'. Only the next day do I realise they plan to gouge me $4 a bottle (plus tax) for it - if the lighting was better, maybe I would have spotted the price tag. When I check out, I discover they have charged me for it twice, at different rates. Maybe the tax changed.
A shower would be nice. Would prefer expensive soap with no wrapper to cheap soap in an expensive wrapper, but never mind.
Strange towel - am I supposed to dry myself all over with this? Perhaps in America you use one towel for the top half and another for the bottom. Well, that’s what I'll do.
Sit down to do some work. Someone has left a tray of cakes on the desk. The tray has holes in it. Move the tray. Underneath is a sticky mess.
Look up from the computer, and find a rather unappealing and obviously jet lagged individual looking back. Realise it's me. Strange place to put a mirror. Can't be a dressing table - no light.
Plug in the computer amidst the morass of wires behind the desk. Luckily I have an adaptor. The cheap hotel I stayed in last week had an international power point in the desk, but you can't expect them to think of everything.
Try the Daily Grill. Lively, good service, excellent meal.
Bed time. Turn out the lights. Fortunately I know where all the switches are, because I spent a happy half hour looking for them when I arrived.
So finally to the 'Heavenly Bed' - hyperbole which seems inappropriate to the jaundiced eye of a European. Theres a lot of traffic late at night in Houston, isn't there? I would phone the lady in the room next door, but she is obviously having a better time than me, and it seems a shame to spoil it for her.
Why have they tucked the duvet in round the edges? Don't they know the whole point of a duvet is that it doesn't constrict you? And why are the sheets too small, so that when you untuck the duvet all the sheets come out? And the undersheet doesn’t have elastic corners to retain it, so it rucks up and I feel like I'm sleeping in a ploughed field. And the duvet (the thin one, not the arctic version that I've already discarded on the floor) is too thick, so I turn down the air conditioning to minimum, but am still to hot. And there are no buttons to close the duvet cover, so when I wake up the bottom half of me is lying on the mattress covered by the duvet - not a sheet in sight. Wonder how many other people have had the same problem, and hope they showered before they went to bed and didn't sweat as much as I did.
Wake up early - jet lag is like that. I'll read the paper for a while. Oh, that’s thoughtful - they've left it in the corridor. Makes you wonder what the big gap under the door is for.
Back to the Daily Grill: and it's good again. Why do they use those thick walled mugs so the coffee is always cold? Must be an American thing. We obviously took all the thin walled mugs home after the tea party. (Over the next few days I discover the daily grill is good 66% of the time, independent of the time of day.)
Trousers have that lived in look, but I'll need them tonight. Check the laundry. That’s good, in by nine, back by five. Get back at six, with 20 minutes to cut and run. No laundry. I guess they hang onto it until I'm back so they can gouge me for a tip.
Check out. Seems a lot for not much, but the company is paying so what the hell.
Look at my itinerary. Oh, good, they've booked me into another Westin in Denver. Now there's something to look forward to!