Janesville

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Hi. I’m in Janesville.

I’m always a little nervous when I’m at the front desk at a hotel. I mean, they hold my life in their hands. Or, at least, they hold in their hands my residence for the next x-number of days. What if they give me a room on the parking lot side of the building? What if my room is too close to the pool and I smell chlorine all night?

Today I was given room #120. I walked in, pleased that it was not on the parking lot side, but disappointed to discover it looked out on the highway. I set about shutting off the air so that I could have complete silence. Then I stood and listened for a minute. I could hear trucks barreling down the freeway. Then I closed the curtains. God, I hate hotel curtains. They always meet right in the middle, thereby assuring a crack of light from a nearby street lamp inevitably pierces the dark room all night.

I considered going back to the front desk and requesting a room on a higher floor (to get away from the street lamp light) and further from the freeway. But about 18 of my co-workers were also in the hotel, and I don’t want them to know how neurotic I am.

I called my wife and explained the problem to her. She wasn’t too much help, which wasn’t surprising because she spends the first thirty minutes in any hotel room wiping down every surface for fear that the room is covered in blood, sweat, and santorum.

So…Since I only needed one of the two beds, I removed the quilt from one of the beds and wrapped it around the curtain rod. That made it nice and dark. I purposely slept in the bed further from the window and drifted off to sleep.

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

I used an iron for, like, the third time in my life.

Back on Monday, when I was packing for my trip to Janesville, my wife instructed me to insert one collared shirt into another and then roll them up. I did that. She also said to hang them up as soon as I got to the hotel on Tuesday. That I did not do.

It wasn’t until this morning, about 15 seconds before I put the shirt on, that I realized I should have hung up the shirts. I put on my blue button shirt and looked in the mirror. I, of course, looked smashing. But my shirt, oh no no, it would never do. It was wrinkled all over – with large creases running the length of the trim and a crumpled up mid-section.

The hotel management has seen fit to equip each room with an iron and an ironing board. I took out the iron and plugged it in. I’m always a little scared to use an iron. They’re so complicated. I never know if a button is going to cause hot water to gently mist onto the clothing, or if it’s going to dump a quart of water on me. And how long should I keep the iron in one spot? And what if I begin ironing a spot that’s folded over, will it become permanently wrinkled?

Anyway, I figured it out good enough. I would estimate a wrinkle reduction of about 80%, and I didn’t burn the shirt. I just plugged it in, didn’t touch any buttons, and waved the magic iron over the shirt splayed out on the table. Oh – yes, I used a table; not the ironing board. I can’t use ironing boards because I hate the screech they make when you open the legs.

The iron I used.

The ironing board I didn’t use.

The ironing board I did use.

Right after that, I donned the shirt and ran out to the lobby to meet up with my co-workers. I attended a presentation for most of the day. I think it was interesting, but the outlet cover on the plug under the projector screen was screwed on crooked, so I was distracted the whole day.

Thursday, 19 January 2012