Check-in of a different kind
It wasn’t till a packet of toilet rolls, ordered online, was delivered at home that it dawned on my wife that we hadn’t been on a holiday for some time. “It’s so shameful,” she said to me, “to be out of toilet paper.” This is usually easily remedied in most homes by ordering a supply from the neighbourhood kirana, but in my wife’s case it involved extraordinary logistics that began with checking into a hotel. On standard instructions, her assistant packs a small suitcase with her clothes within a larger one, which means she checks in with one bag but checks out with two.
You’d think it might be cheaper to simply buy one’s toilet paper, but where would be the excitement then? My wife’s modus operandi is now well established and simple. Call housekeeping from the room for additional supplies; remove toilet rolls before the staff comes in to clean the room in the morning, and again before turndown in the evening; purloin from the housekeeping cart in the corridors; always making sure to lock the stash away to avoid being found out. To add to this supply, she makes frequent use of the public washrooms from where extra rolls find their way to the usually large, empty bag she carries for just such purpose. The quality of toilet paper in our house fluctuates depending on the hotels we have returned from.
I learned a long time ago not to curb my wife’s enthusiasm for such freebies, but baulked when we had to pay extra baggage on an international sector for oversized baggage that was loaded with — yes, toilet paper. “Really?” I argued, but she explained that it was hard to resist the embroidered cloth pouches in which the spare rolls were stored. Any audit of such pouch holders in our bathroom can provide guests with a reasonably accurate picture of our recent travels.
Let me hasten to assure you that my wife isn’t a garden-variety kleptomaniac but a specialised one. If you spot any hotel towels on our premises, they were probably nicked by me — accidentally, of course. Occasional ashtrays and sundry memorabilia has found its way to the house in mysterious ways since no one in the family is willing to take credit for their inexplicable presence. Shampoos and conditioners are par for the course, usually as tokens for the domestic staff. But if there is one thing I’d like to filch, it is the incredibly soft pillows most hotels spoil you with, and which you can never find in any store. I’d ask my wife to do it, but then she’d require three bags instead of two, which might look suspicious should the concierge remember that she walked in with only one.
Meanwhile, word is that the toilet rolls ordered online don’t quite fit the bill. “I need to go to Mumbai,” my wife mused to me this morning, asking me to book her tickets and hotel, ostensibly for some exhibition, but I heard her mention to her sister on the phone that “supplies are running low”. My suspicions were confirmed when I heard her tell her Man Friday to be sure to find the right size of suitcase to place within a bigger one. She might not bring me back pillows, but at least the quality of the toilet paper will be an improvement.