Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Like A Hotel, Only Whiter

Everything in Ray's apartment is white. The walls. The sheets. The carpet. Even the photographs are black and white.

And it's neat. Insanely neat. As in, 'I-might-be-a-killer' or 'I-might-have-been-in-the-military' neat.

So naturally I look forward to staying at his place so I can muck it up. It's like staying at The Westin - crisp white sheets, view of downtown - only without the sales pitch channel touting the White Tea shampoo.

I walk in, toss my bag on the counter, kick my shoes off and proceed to make myself at home. And just like at a hotel, I know that miraculously my belongings will somehow end up neat and orderly by the time I leave.

We call his place The Raymada.

For effect, he'll sometimes leave hotel soaps on the bathroom counter for me. There is even turn-down service, ie, someone's gotta make the bed and that someone is often Ray. (The staff at The Raymada is superb.)

I'm a "preferred guest" I like to think, racking up double points for making caffeine runs to Coffee Emporium. (Hey, it's not every hotel guest that brings back coffee for the staff from all the way across the street.)

But it's even better when he goes to Coffee Emporium because usually a) I'm still asleep and b) he'll pick up a Sunday New York Times too. When I wake up they are both waiting for me on the frosted glass coffee table. (Of course it's frosted glass. It really is like a hotel, I'm not making this up.)

Last time this happened - omg, the New York Times Book Review and a soy latté, hooray! - I nearly peed my pants with excitement. Which really only adds to the urban experience, I think.

Often times I will bring over my laundry when I run out of clean underwear, you know, just to make sure his washer and dryer are functioning properly. Part of earning my "points" I feel: Equipment checks.

The only difference between his place and an actual hotel is that I always run out of hot water at the Raymada. (I would write a strongly worded Post-It note to the staff about this problem but I can never find anything to write on, that's how neat and put away everything is.)

This hot water issue would never happen at the real Westin. But that's because the people at the Westin don't turn their dishwasher on as soon as I'm getting into the shower to freeze me to death.

Nice try, Ray. But my reservation is for the entire weekend and I am not leaving.


Caveat: I originally wrote this when Ray and I first started dating. It has languished in my drafts folder for two years with another 182 drafts. I'm posting it now because as of Thursday I will no longer be earning points at the Raymada. I'm really going to miss the tiny hotel shampoos.

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