Travel bugs
A weekly ode to the joys of moaning about your holidays. By Tim Roxborogh
Double-booked hotel room shenanigans
Three bathrooms is my record. The most bathrooms for one hotel room or suite I’ve had is unlikely to ever top the three I enjoyed at Hilton Hotel Anaheim earlier this year. And when I say “enjoyed”, I made a calculated decision to use all three. Why not? If you had a hotel suite with three bathrooms, wouldn’t you use every one of them? Or would you limit your carbon footprint to just the one water closet? Well, perhaps karma came and bit me on the backside, so to speak, because while using bathroom number three, I suddenly came to realise I may not have been in a three-bathroom-suite after all.
It’s quite a moment of panic to be sitting on the toilet in a hotel room and to hear somebody fumbling around with a swipe card trying to open the door of the suite. Especially with the bathroom door ajar. Having checked into the hotel a couple of hours earlier, an end of day shower, some enthusiastic rehydration techniques and a rambunctious Mexican meal for lunch had meant I was in semi-regular need of the comforts of the WC.
Given I was evidently pretending to be some sort of flamboyant rockstar, I set about using a different bathroom for every visit.
To explain how this jerk-level of opulence came the way of a humble Kiwi travel writer, it all came down to the fact I needed to do my Newstalk ZB radio show while in California. Travelling with an extra suitcase that contained what is in essence a portable radio studio, I required a room with a good old-fashioned fixed line internet connection. In the Wi-Fi age this is an increasing rarity, but as luck would have it, the Presidential Suite at the Hilton in Anaheim still had one.
Yes indeed, the 203sq m Presidential Suite. This felt like winning the lottery — I’d never seen a hotel suite so huge in all my life. There was a massive living room, dining room and kitchen with doors opening out to a patio. At either end of the living area were the two bedrooms, each with an ensuite and with the third bathroom behind the kitchen.
Ordering room service, I set about getting to know every square inch of the suite, including those bathrooms. It was while using the ensuite for the room I wasn’t intending to sleep in (how outrageous!) that I heard the rustling of hands and swipe cards. Earlier I’d latched the little chain on all three of the suite’s access doors and just as well because one of them was now doing its required role: keeping people out.
“Hello?” I called out from my throne. “Hi, we’re just trying to get into our room,” came the response. “One moment!” I lied, with at least seven or eight flustered moments passing before I’d washed and dried my hands and made my way to the almost open door. Lifting the chain, I was met by a young couple and their bags. Oh no! They too were surprised, assuming it had been a hotel staff member readying their room that had caused the delay, as opposed to a fellow guest taking a dump.
A conversation ensued in which it dawned on me that though the Presidential Suite can include both adjoining bedrooms, it doesn’t have to. The couple had booked the one room and I’d not noticed my swipe card only worked for the other bedroom and the living area. I still had the Presidential Suite, but with a one bedroom configuration. The confusion came from the adjoining door being left open between the living area and bedroom No. 2.
To be honest, I felt relief. Choosing which bedroom to sleep in had caused me stress; stress I’d alleviated by sharing the love with the three bathrooms. Sure, it was a little embarrassing knowing the young couple would encounter the lingering evidence I’d just used their WC, but at least I hadn’t napped on their bed or anything. Though truth be told I’d definitely considered it.