Feeling Presidential

Washington, D.C.

 

1736…1737…1739…  Hey, I’m supposed to be in 1738!  Where’d it go?

 

Here’s where my room is supposed to be, but all it says is “Presidential Suite.”  Bing! (Light bulb.)  Sweet!  I get the suite!  (Second thought: what a waste of money.)

 

So I enter the room and check out my new pad for the next two nights.  Large dining table, bar (unstocked), several couches and chairs, giant TV, top-floor views… nice place.

 

But one minor problem.  I’ve looked everywhere, checked the adjoining rooms, and finally had to call the front desk: “Hi, this is Mr. Geisen in room 1738.  I have a slightly embarrassing situation… I can’t find my bed.”  “Oh, yes, your room must have a Murphy bed, sir.  It pulls down from the wall.”  “Nope, don’t see it.”  “Okay, check the couch.”

 

Sure enough.  Hide-a-bed.

 

I'm certainly not complaining.  I actually slept just fine, because I was exhausted and I’m used to sleeping on the ground.  I was just struck by the irony of the situation.

 

This is where I should probably make an educational analogy here, something along the lines of  “people say they really value teachers, but when we step into the room they’ve reserved for us, all get is a hide-a-bed.”  But the analogy doesn’t quite work.  We don’t have a giant TV, trendy couches, nice views, or anything else, either.  Just a sign on the door that says “Highly Valued Member of Society.”

 

Oh well.  We’re used to sleeping on the ground.