Do Not Disturb

Tim and I decided we needed to escape the crowds and craziness that is the fourth of July in the nations capital, so we hopped a train and headed for the quite solitude...of New York City!

We arrived Friday afternoon, and after a quick bite and a leisurely stroll around (of course, leisurely in NYC means you do a four minute mile or risk getting mowed down and left for road kill on Fifth Avenue), we went back to the hotel to freshen up before dinner.

Wanting to ensure privacy (we learned our lesson in Paris) we hung out the "Do Not Disturb" sign, then locked and chained the only door into the room (we also thought briefly about hiring a bouncer, but decided to keep that option in reserve for the time being).

After a quick shower and change of clothes, I slipped the sign off the door and we started to head out. Halfway out the door though, Tim realized he had forgotten something, so we popped back to get it.

No sooner had the door shut, then there was a knock. "Housekeeping"

Wow. That was fast. What, were they staking out the room, just waiting for the sign to disappear before they jumped in there? Now that is one dedicated staff (or people with too much time on their hands).

"Five minutes," I requested, as Tim and I shuddered in remembrance of our last weekend trip. Maybe a bouncer wasn't such a bad idea after all. Later that night though, when we returned to the room, we decided to risk it and just go with the sign and the double-locked door again. We're crazy like that.

The next morning, still wallowing in the unaccustomed privacy of our room, I turned on the shower and..no water. I turned if off and tried again. Still no water. I felt the panic rising, clawing its way up to the surface. This was not good.

As those close to me know, a shower is near and dear to my heart. Compared to me being denied my morning shower, Anthony Perkins in Psycho looked like a kindly, lovable hotelier mere offering to help Janet Leigh get at that hard to reach spot on her back.

I shouted for Tim, who rushed in hoping to avoid the meltdown he knew from experience was barely being held in check. Like a knight in shining armour (or a man grasping at the last straw), he battled the recalcitrant shower handle. He turned, he twisted, he even shouted and cussed, but the shower stubbornly refused to yield. Finally, he had to admit defeat and call the front desk.

In anticipation of the maintenance guy they promised to send up, I removed the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the door. No sooner had I closed it, then there was a knock. My heart beat faster with pure, unadulterated joy at the speed with which the maintenance guy had responded to our plea for help. With the sign still dangling from my fingers, I pulled open the door.

"Housekeeping," the woman standing there chirped.

Seriously? Did these people camp out in the room next door, just waiting for us to leave? I've seen cats pounce on mice with less speed and determination than the housekeeping staff at that hotel.

"Can you come back later?" I asked, "Our shower is broken, and they are sending someone up to fix it." Why I felt compelled to explain the situation to this woman, I don't know. It isn't like she cared why we were still in the room, she just knew she was going to have to keep our room under surveillance a while longer.

No sooner had I closed the door on her then there was another knock. This time, behind door number one: the maintenance guy! Who suspiciously had only a screw driver. Did he not know he was here on the most important job of his career? Had it not been impressed upon him how vital this shower was? He should have shown up with the Craftsman deluxe tool cabinet, and all he brought was a screwdriver?

But, it seemed he was a miracle worker after all, and after five minutes in the bathroom, I heard the glorious sound of running water. All was right with my world again, and nobody was going to have to die.

I ushered him out the door with many thanks, then once again hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, and headed into the bathroom where I gleefully turned the shower handle. And no water came out.

The vein in my left temple started to throb. Was this some sort of cruel joke? Did they want me to go all Godzilla on them and raze their hotel? Because I could do it.

Once again, Tim rushed in in response to my distress call and monkeyed around with the handle. And once again, I found myself removing the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the door while he called the front desk and suggested that they send the maintenance guy back up to actually fix the problem this time.

Within minutes, there was a knock on the door. I steeled myself to answer the door calmly, but if it was the housekeeping staff again, I couldn't be responsible for my actions. Thankfully , for them, it was the maintenance guy.

Before I could even open my mouth, he produced two faucet parts explaining how he was sure one or the other of them would fix the problem. So, if he knew he hadn't really fixed the problem the first time, why had he said he did and left? I resisted the urge to flush him and his parts down the toilet.

In short order, he was back out in the room though, admitting that it was a third part he needed, which he didn't have, so he would have to go get it. Okay, that was it, now his death was going to be slow and painful.

Tim held me back while he escaped to get the part. But before he returned, there was to be one final visit from housekeeping, because they hadn't pushed me far enough yet. What was it with those people? Were we the only guests in the hotel, or did we just look exceptionally sloppy? I believe Tim handled that one, since he didn't trust me to be around people at that point.

The third time proved to be the charm, and I did get my shower, but not before I put out the "Do Not Disturb" sign one last time...and double locked the door...and made Tim stand guard.