I went out-of-town for a wedding this weekend. Standing in the elevator (already running late for the wedding, of course), mentally counting the bing of the elevator as it passed each floor (doesn’t everyone do this?), my thoughts ran something like this:
Hurry up. Hurry hurry hurry.
Bing. Bing. 3. 4. Bing…
Huh, the bings wouldn’t work to tell a blind person which floor it is, because it only binged 13 times for my floor.
Oh, never mind, the elevator computer voice is telling me the floor number. Makes more sense than making people count constantly.
Hurry, hurry hurry hurry hurry.
Room 1401 – no, not room – a suite! With a king sized bed I could sleep on any which way, arms overhead, and never touch the edge. Not only did it have a living room and kitchenette, but the washroom was divided into the toilet-and-shower room, and the mirror-filled sink-room.
I don’t stay in hotels very often, and it’s usually with the whole family packed two to a “queen” (why do they lie so much about sizes? How is your queen sized bed narrower than my double?), with one on cushions on the floor. A king sized (actually!) bed, and only one roommate for the night is mind-blowing.
The wedding was… giant. 6’10”, and 6”3, to be specific. The new Mr. And Mrs. make me look like a small child, standing next to them. Their wedding colours were orange and blue, which makes me love them all the more. Congrats to my dear friends, may you live happily ever after, and may your future children not get taller than me until at least the age of 8.
Outside after the wedding and before it rained, a man just happened to be walking his giant blue macaw parrot. Oddly not the first (or even the second) time in my visits to London in which I have encountered people out and about with their avian buddies. The only reason I bring it up this time is that this bird matched the wedding party. I’m sure it’s a sign that the marriage was meant to be, not that there was any doubt. Or proof that birds of a feather flock together.
Back in the elevator after the wedding, I realised why there were only 13 bings. The elevator pad has the Lobby, floor 1, 2, 3… 11, 12, 14.
I have to wonder whether people who have Triskaidekaphobia feel safer on the 13th floor, if it’s called the 14th floor instead? Does the bad luck really come up to the floor, pause, baffled, and move along? Perhaps casting a suspicious glare over its shoulder as it goes about its business? Should I feel luckier that I’m in room 1301 (now that sounds like something out of a Stephen King novel!), disguised as room 1401? I think they should maybe have added an additional bing in there, just to ensure the bad luck is thoroughly bamboozled. I’ll leave out the fact that some cultures have a serious hang-up about anything containing the number Four. Perhaps that bad luck is wilier, and realises that it’s actually the 13th floor.
Apparently some hotels simply choose to leave the 13th floor numbered as is, and fill it with maintenance facilities instead of guests. Seems like a bad idea to fill a bad-luck cursed floor with ladders and brooms and heavy machinery. Maybe a better idea than putting a black cat sanctuary in, I suppose. I slept like a babe, on my full-bed-sized half of the most comfortable bed ever, in room 1301.
Don’t worry about the black cat crossing your path. He isn’t black. I’ve decided he’s ombre. Or perhaps, dusky grey.