Bellhops and other necessities

When I was growing up in rural South Dakota, I had heard words like bellhop, valet, and room service. These things were a bit mythical, and us kids never really knew for certain if they did actually exist. Certainly not anywhere near us... but maybe, maybe it was possible, that in some place like New York City, that you would need someone to open the door for you.

Wayne had a conference last week and Penelope and I came with. We were lucky enough to stay at a beautiful resort. A five star resort. A very fancy five star resort. Since childhood, I have learned that there are such things as valets and bellhops. And this place had them.

We had driven our 2000 Honda, much to Wayne's chagrin. Wayne's newest car was missing a tire, and we couldn't get a new one before we had to leave. This car's passenger door only opens about four inches, due to running into a deer a while back. I road in the backseat for most of the trip, but sometimes crawled up to the front seat to sit with Wayne. Upon arriving at the hotel, you are not allowed to park your own car, so we drove up to the valet. Mr. Valet, complete with suit and cap, smiles and attempts to open my door for me. After the first four inches, his smile tightened into a grimace, as he man-handled the door. Needless to say, the door now opens ALL THE WAY. We are lucky the whole door didn't fall of right there. There is now a dent where Mr. Valet crunched the hinge-side of the car door into the front corner panel.

We checked into the hotel and got a large amount of small bills for the perpetual tipping of endless services. It was "Mrs. Douglas, may I get your bag" and "Mrs. Douglas do you need your mini bar replenished?" I have never been referred to as 'Mrs. Douglas' so many times in my life.

We had arrived late, and once in our beautiful room, didn't want to leave. So we ordered room service for dinner. Our table came complete with linen napkins, flowers and butter pats cut into shapes. It took the room-service-person 10 minutes just to set up our table, make sure everything was arranged perfectly and pour our drinks. Our dinner was nicer than most meals we have eaten in an actual restaurant, and it was nice to let Penelope crawl around while we ate.

One evening Wayne was out, Penelope was asleep and there was a knock at the door. "Good evening, Mrs. Douglas, would you like your turn-down service now?" A few years back I learned what a turn-down service is. Someone from the hotel comes to your room, puts on soft music, dims the lights, pulls back the covers and fluffs your pillows. Just so you don't have to bother with doing it yourself. Sometimes they even put a chocolate or candy on your pillow. Oh, the luxury.

Our pampered stay came to a close much too soon. When Wayne finished with his conference, he came back to the room to retrieve us and our luggage before we checked out. I grabbed Penelope and a few bags, and started out the door. "Where are you going?" Wayne asked. "Um...I'm leaving, aren't you?" I said. "I can't get all these bags!" He said. There were only two, plus a garment bag, but I guess it was too much for Wayne. He called the bellhop to assist the 'Mr. and Mrs. Douglas party' with their bags. If only we had driven the shiny new car, Wayne would have fit right in.

Back at home, after a long day of work, Wayne came home. When he went to bed, he noticed I had left his lamp on for him. The covers were pulled back, and he noticed there was something on his pillow. A chocolate. As he curled up to sleep, soft music floated through the room. And as he drifted of to sleep, he was most likely wondering how long it will be before I stop teasing him for needing a bellhop to carry his bags.