Topher Payne never put "standoff with a hotel cleaning lady" on his
Must Do Before I Die list. Reach him through editor@davidatlanta.com.
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TOPHER PAYNE
| 12.24.2008
 
MY BIRTHDAY WAS A QUIET affair, celebrated at a hotel in North Carolina. There was an indoor pool and a hot tub, so I spent a few contented hours wandering from one to the other until my hands were as wrinkled and pruny as a pre-facelift Cindy McCain.
Afterward, I stopped by The Food Lion for some sandwich stuff and beer, and on impulse bought myself a slice of coconut cake. Back at the hotel, I made a little picnic on my bed and watched “30 Rock” in my underpants.
I’m not sure when hangin’ out in my underwear became the pinnacle of decadence for me, but it’s really become a benchmark of quality in my mind. If I got to perform everyday tasks in my Ginch Gonch, it was a damn fine day. This is even more bizarre because it’s not something I’m comfortable doing in my own home.
I fret that the UPS man or Carlos the lawn guy will stop by. In hotels, you needn’t worry because you’ve got the “Do Not Disturb” sign to ward off all potential pests. If I put that on the front door of my residence, I know folks would pay no heed and disturb me anyway.
I was really happy with my party for one — until three days later, when my beer-and-cake splurge caught up with me and I ran out of money long before my next paycheck.
I pulled all the small change from my backpack and managed to work a little magic at the McDonald’s dollar menu, but then that money was gone, too. I might’ve flat-out starved if there hadn’t been a shining beacon to give me hope: Our Hilton in South Florida had a free Continental breakfast.
I SET MY ALARM FOR 10 MINUTES PRIOR to its start the next day. I wanted full selection and few watchful eyes.
I took my computer bag down with me, which I set next to my chair in the corner. I started toasting English muffins and bagels, which I would bring back to the table, and using my computer as a shield, I’d wrap the baked goods in napkins and drop them into the bag.
I made four trips to the counter using this method, helping myself to oranges, bananas, waffles, handfuls of Splenda, boxes of Honey Smacks, whatever they had. It was after the fourth trip that I aroused the suspicions of a steel-jawed Hispanic housekeeper with long hair and a short fuse.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, approaching my table. “You cannot take food to your room.”
“I’m not,” I said, closing my bag and hoping she didn’t have the right to search it.
“You have food in your bag.”
“No I don’t. I have various kinds of documents. I am a writer. Nothing but my documents in there.”
“No more, sir,” she said, and walked back to a corner with her arms folded, watching me.
I wanted to say, “Look, lady, show some fucking charity, I’m poor and it’s Christmas,” but I’m guessing a middle-aged hotel housekeeper wouldn’t be moved by pleas of poverty from a twenty-something guy holding a Blackberry and an I-Pod.
Even so, we had a standoff for like 30 minutes before she finally pushed her cart away, at which point I tossed six Danishes in my bag and filled an Aquafina bottle with apple juice. I’m not letting one Scrooge cause me to go hungry.
IT WAS OUR DAY OFF, so I had my lunch of bagels and bananas on the beach, wondering if perhaps the Christmas spirit eludes those who get no cues from the weather indicating the holidays are upon us. I know I felt much more Christmassy last week in snow than I did sitting in my swimsuit at the ocean. Even Atlanta usually has our traditional slightly frozen rain to signal Santa.
The unexpected lesson from touring America for the last two months has been learning what I can live without. There’s the big stuff, like the house, or my fiancé and friends that I saw coming, but the little stuff has been very instructive.
This is how one eats on $10 a day. This is how one spends 24 hours in a hotel room without putting on clothes. This is your life when it’s simmered down to just you, without all the clutter.
I talk less than you think. I listen to podcasts for hours on the bus, and then I’ll leave my headphones on and pretend to listen to music while I think in silence. And you know what I think about?
Clutter. I miss the clutter of my life. Making a home, loving someone, maintaining friendships — it’s messy. And I think I’m at my best when I’m in the midst of that mess.
When I’m finally home again after Christmas, there won’t be presents under the tree, and I’m OK with that. My present to myself this year is a new appreciation for the home I have.
I know that’s so stereotypical and sappy that I can’t even muster the energy to mock it, but it’s true. When you take a step away from your life, you’ll often find you’ve got most everything you need. And then all you really want is to get back to it.
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