There are many signs the universe gives you that you’re getting old. New aches like a knee that’s now very high maintenance and wrinkles that are so deep you fear they could germinate wildflower seeds.
But then there’s the times when out of the blue you get slapped upside the head with what amounts to breaking news alert that you have entered a new phase in your seasoned citizen journey.
This happened to me recently when I stayed at what’s referred to as a “hipster hotel” in Nashville. This hotel was beautiful in a very crop top forward kind of way. And by that I mean it was filled with gorgeous people baring their abdomens in 29 degree weather where I feared that their belly rings might freeze off.
There was also no front desk or really any visible sign of a human that worked for the hotel. This is because you check in on the hotel app to get your room key. If you need any additional assistance, it’s text only.
Once I found my room I was taken aback by the size of the shower. You could have parked a Mini Cooper in there. I’m not saying a “car wash size shower” is on my bucket list but I was eagerly anticipating a new level of cleanliness.
I was also intrigued by the bed. It had a “BBE” rating. As in “Best Bed Ever.” Now I was thinking wow, I was going to experience a mega shower and also the best sleep of my life. I got goosebumps.
But alas that joy didn’t last long. The first thing that happened to dampen my enthusiasm was that as the sun started setting, I couldn’t figure out how to turn on any of the lights in the room. As in there were no switches.
I even got out my reading glasses and started examining the walls like I was a crime scene analyst trying to find blood splatter in an attempt to locate a light switch. Finally, I texted the hotel. “Use the app” was the answer.
Ugh.
My next quest was to get some ice for the room. This proved to be arduous because although the room had an ice bucket I couldn’t locate an ice machine.
I manically scoured the hotel like a deranged woman playing a game of hide and seek and still couldn’t find an ice machine. Then I willed myself to think like a hipster and saw a door with a small sign that said “rocks.” Yes, the ice machine was behind the “rocks” door.
After that unsettling experience I decided to take a shower. But, in a surprise to no one right about now, I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the shower. I even checked the hotel app and didn’t find any instructions. Finally, after again needing my reading glasses, I discovered a hidden button that turned on the water.
Sadly, the water pressure had a lot in common with a kinked garden house. But I didn’t let the fact that I never got all the conditioner out of my hair get me down because I was about to get into the “best bed ever.”
Hmm, so many thoughts on this. The most important one is that the hipster hotel bed hurt my hips. I was so sore the next day I wanted to text the hotel and inquire if they provided complimentary Icy Hot muscle relief gel.
As I checked out via the app, of course, I told myself I had learned a valuable lesson. If the ice machine is called “rocks” I’ve probably aged out of that particular hotel experience.
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Snarky in the Suburbs 