A short story
Today they came and changed my linens.
It's an interesting setup I have here. In my wood-floored room I have a twin bed (with three blankets -- seems excessive, frankly). Above the bed is a single shelf with a wooden rod for hanging clothes. Next to the wall where my head lies is the door. The room is just wide enough you could fit two twin beds in it side by side, but you wouldn't have anywhere to walk. It's not deep enough to fit two twin beds end to end. Well, maybe, if you squeezed really hard and there wasn't a radiator.
At the foot of the bed is a desk, at which I'm currently sitting. Just behind me is a lamp and a small round red table. Next to the table is a box fan, stuck in an open window. Next to the window is a sink, with a mirror above it. There's a towel bar and next to it, a bookshelf.
The bookshelf holds one of my three blankets. One is on the bed, though likely to be traded for the one on the shelf, as it's far too warm. The third blanket is folded up under my pillow in an attempt to prop my head up while I was reading earlier.
It's spartan, but the sheets are clean, and it's all part of the adventure.
When they came to change the linens, they arrived just before 9 a.m. I admit that I was still asleep at this point, but I dutifully arose and let them go about their business. I didn't catch their names, but one woman had been working here for three weeks and is about to quit, and the other was on her first day.
Ivy stopped by to say hello while my door was open. Ivy is my neighbor. Likely in her early 60s, she is originally from El Salvador, but lived in Houston for some time, which apparently makes us friends, since being from Houston, she knows where Austin is.
Those of you who know me well know that I'm not the tidiest person. Right now all of my dirty laundry is in a pile on the floor. It's an actual pile, and isn't strewn across the floor, but I'm fairly certain it didn't meet Ivy's standards. She returned moments after our first meeting this morning with something folded and blue. From across the room -- separated by the housekeeping crew -- I wasn't sure what it was. She insisted that I take it, despite my protests that we had just met.
Turns out it was a laundry bag. She claims it's an extra and insists I keep it. Right now it's folded on my round red table.
As they were leaving, though, one of the housekeepers turns around and whispers, "Watch out for Ivy. She'll get friendly and start touching you."
I have no idea what this means.
It's an interesting setup I have here. In my wood-floored room I have a twin bed (with three blankets -- seems excessive, frankly). Above the bed is a single shelf with a wooden rod for hanging clothes. Next to the wall where my head lies is the door. The room is just wide enough you could fit two twin beds in it side by side, but you wouldn't have anywhere to walk. It's not deep enough to fit two twin beds end to end. Well, maybe, if you squeezed really hard and there wasn't a radiator.
At the foot of the bed is a desk, at which I'm currently sitting. Just behind me is a lamp and a small round red table. Next to the table is a box fan, stuck in an open window. Next to the window is a sink, with a mirror above it. There's a towel bar and next to it, a bookshelf.
The bookshelf holds one of my three blankets. One is on the bed, though likely to be traded for the one on the shelf, as it's far too warm. The third blanket is folded up under my pillow in an attempt to prop my head up while I was reading earlier.
It's spartan, but the sheets are clean, and it's all part of the adventure.
When they came to change the linens, they arrived just before 9 a.m. I admit that I was still asleep at this point, but I dutifully arose and let them go about their business. I didn't catch their names, but one woman had been working here for three weeks and is about to quit, and the other was on her first day.
Ivy stopped by to say hello while my door was open. Ivy is my neighbor. Likely in her early 60s, she is originally from El Salvador, but lived in Houston for some time, which apparently makes us friends, since being from Houston, she knows where Austin is.
Those of you who know me well know that I'm not the tidiest person. Right now all of my dirty laundry is in a pile on the floor. It's an actual pile, and isn't strewn across the floor, but I'm fairly certain it didn't meet Ivy's standards. She returned moments after our first meeting this morning with something folded and blue. From across the room -- separated by the housekeeping crew -- I wasn't sure what it was. She insisted that I take it, despite my protests that we had just met.
Turns out it was a laundry bag. She claims it's an extra and insists I keep it. Right now it's folded on my round red table.
As they were leaving, though, one of the housekeepers turns around and whispers, "Watch out for Ivy. She'll get friendly and start touching you."
I have no idea what this means.
posted by Audrey at 6:02 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home