the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

but europeans are so polite, it takes you a while to figure out how much you're screwing up

First, though, I must ask: Why do hotels insist on folding my toilet paper? This inexplicable meme has spread to here (the end of the earth), even. WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS?! Has anyone, in the history of the world, ever called the front desk to say, "I hate to complain, but my maid left my room in disarray. She didn't handle my toilet paper enough"?

It's even worse here. Instead of making the single 45 degree fold or the more advanced double 45 "airplane" fold, my maid folds then TUCKS the excess (why there is excess after the tuck is a mystery) into the end of the roll. Eventually, I pop by to, um, meditate, and I have to claw at the stuff to get it off, which means I probably am leaving little shreds attached to places unmentionable.*

* That would explain that odd tickle.

But how does one request that the toilet paper be left alone? "Please unhand my toilet paper"? If there was a DO NOT DISTURB sign in the room, I'd put it under the toilet paper lids--yeah...the TP has little lids here--to drop a hint, but there isn't (a sign, or a hint). Plus, it seems a little too...I don't know...intimate to bring up with the concierge, the front desk, or the maid (who would probably not understand me, anyway, which would leave me miming it, which in the lobby of this hotel, might just bring the Air Force up on indecency charges). We're talking about a maid who comes in and not only remakes and perfectly smoothes the bedspread, fluffs the pillows, and ensures the mirrors (lots of 'em) are spotless, but also carefully folds whatever clothes I've left laying around. They (the maids, not the dirty clothes) leave a fresh carnation in the bathroom every day. Later in the day, they pop by with chocolates. Today, I got some little chocolate balls with something like a chocolate mousse inside, probably from the Swiss Chef downstairs.

Anyway...instead of a DO NOT DISTURB door handle sign, they have a button on the wall you push (from inside your room) that lights up a similar button in the hall. When you want to request housekeeping, you push a button that lights up the MAKE UP ROOM* button that turns on a green light in the hall.** They also don't have clocks in the rooms, other than on the telephones. You have to leave a wake-up call with the concierge.

* This initially left me looking for the make-up room and wondering why the rest of the switches weren't labeled.

** No, they don't both turn on simultaneously. Yes, I tried.

I think they only entertain the possibility of hiring someone to clean the rooms here if the applicant has a clinical OCD diagnosis.

Some of the perks of this pad, by the way:

Breakfast. You just think you've had breakfast before. Hmph. No, you haven't. Wherever you've been, they offered you a mere snack. Here, the Cafe Swiss does a spread from 6:30 to 10:30. On the line, they offer Turkish omelette (eggs, tomato, banana peppers, and maybe some cheese scrambled together); sausages in a tomato sauce; something that looks suspiciously like hash browns; a bunch of odd-looking "breads" that are no doubt familiar to non-American nationalities; French toast; bacon made to order (that's right--you get it your way); huge piles of fruit (oranges, apples, pears, tangerines, etc); several cereals in bowls (not boxes) with various nuts and fruits to add, if you wish; an assortment of olives (I admit I haven't figured this one out yet; I love olives, but...breakfast?); various cheese and meats; pastries out the ying-yang; yogurts; mueslix; various fruit juices; baked tomato slices with melted mozzarella (mmmmmm); and of course, tea and coffee, which your waiter will bring to your table. They even have little honeycombs to flavor your biscuits if that's your style.

Quiet. I'm not one of those people who leaves the radio or TV on "just to have company." I like quiet. It lets me think. It relaxes me, helps me focus. When I cannot achieve a tomblike silence, I go for white noise. I get both here, so I'm as happy as an antisocial mummy can be.

Extras. Original artwork. Proper cups and saucers and glasses. A shoeshine kit.* A loofa sponge. Bath slippers. Bathrobes. Toiletries kit (with face wipes and Qtips). Comb (a nice one...not a throwaway). Nonstop shampoo and stuff. Toothbrush and toothpaste, occasionally replaced. Complimentary water and tea, with a teapot. Fresh fruit. Fully stocked fridge and snack bar (which I shoved to the side so I could fit in some stuff I bought).

* Someone shined my Birkenstocks this afternoon. I've had them 8 years and this is the first time the leather has seen polish. They're downright presentable now.

There's also a rather large EMERGENCY button next to the toilet, along with a phone, just in case I've fallen and I can't get up (one only hopes I can reach the button or the phone in such a circumstance; perhaps they should put it on the floor). I hit this button the first day I was in here while I looked for the light switch. (You know how these foreign places are; no respect for the scriptural location of light switches.) I didn't know I'd hit anything important* and soon found the real light switch and forgot about it. Then I decided to step out for a moment. When I got to the lobby, I realized I'd forgotten something, so I came back up to the room to find a security guard outside the door.

* I don't know what I thought it was. Maybe a swimsuit wringer or a tampon shredder or maybe mood lighting for the shower.

I opened the door to get my whatever-it-was-I-forgot and the man quietly said, "Please?" I looked him,* and he stepped in and quietly turned off the switch.

* "At" is a completely superfluous word. Ask any pigeon-English-speaking Turk.

Ah! I thunk. So that's what that was for....

Probably about the time I was fumbling around trying to differentiate light switches,* I switched on the "PLEASE SERVICE ROOM" light. The first couple of days, people kept coming by to offer housekeeping. Each time they'd wake or interrupt me, I'd answer the door politely and they'd say, "Housekeeping?"

ME: No, thank you.

THEM (puzzled): Thank you. Good night.

They were probably thinking, "OK. So...why doesn't she turn off that *&%$ switch?" while I was thinking, "Why do they keep bothering me?"

* In all fairness, it took several months for me to figure out which switches were with in the Black Forest pad.

I think I've finally got the housekeeping system worked out. I just declined to put up the DO NOT DISTURB light because I knew they'd come through and offer me the turn-down service. I've always wondered what this was.

She (predictably) turned down my bed, put a chocolate on it, lay a pillow down, put a late-night room service menu on the bed, along with the TV remote and the "TV Menu," then lay a towel on the floor and put my slippers on it, conveniently about as far apart as my feet hit the floor. Plus, she took out my trash (I generate a lot of trash; that's just the way I roll).

Are there really people in this world who expect this sort of pampering? Really? And what did they put on your bed before TV*? "Would Monsieur prefer Innocents Abroad, Walden, or Deep Space Nine, which I hear is rather thrilling? And would Monsieur like his bathrobe brushed? His lamp trimmed?"

* Or more specifically, before TV remotes. I'm sure they didn't toss the boob tube on the mattress. The "turn-down service" then probably had to stand next to the TV and endure NASCAR until Monsieur dozed off.

I shall try the bidet tomorrow.* I may or may not report. I mean, talking about it seems so...intimate.

* Perhaps it will resolve my tickling problem.

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