The dead body in the hostel lobby might have struck me as a bad sign if I had not been so tired. I didn’t kill the guy so I really didn’t care—just as long as they changed the sheets. The only thing that did bother me was the disinfectant that the maintenance guy was spraying everywhere but especially on whatever was dripping from the body as they carried it out. It wasn’t blood and my curiosity didn’t go so far as to make me ask.
Then the clerk told me that they did not have any record of my online reservation or deposit. Even worse, they only had two beds available, both more expensive than the one I had booked. I pled my case and got a discount on the one that wasn’t recently occupied by a corpse.
It had been a long day of travel by bus and subway from DC and by the time I got into my dorm room I was ready for bed. The first thing I did was to sniff for disinfectant to see if I got the right bed. It was the only time I was ever reassured by the lack of disinfectant, usually the opposite is true. It was midnight and I hit the pillow hard. I had to get up at 4:30 in the morning to get to the airport for my flight to Brasil so I needed all the sleep I could get.
Needless to say that I was less than pleased when, at 1:30 am, the security guard woke me from a deep, peaceful sleep by yelling at me. He was under the impression that I was in the bed under false pretenses and demanded to see my receipt. I groggily and irritably dug it out and thrust it at him. After checking it, making a call to the reception, and saying only, “sorry,” he left. They had overbooked the room and someone had come up to find me where they were supposed to be. It only took about 5 minutes but I was so irritated by the whole thing, I almost did not go back to sleep. I was even less thrilled in the morning when I found that one of my roommates had left the door ajar; anyone could have come in while we were sleeping and taken our bags.
Sleep deprived, I stumbled out into the frigid morning air at 5:00 am. I did not have time to stop at my favorite bagel shop across the street. I was loaded down with an extra bag of clothes and my new Rollerblades and could not sit down to enjoy my usual NY breakfast of a coffee, bagel, eggs, and home fries ($5). It was snowing hard and the two blocks to the subway left me fluffy white. That is, until it melted and it left me unpleasantly damp. While it took almost an hour to get to the airport, I was happy that I did not have to take a taxi.
The check-in line was short, I was right on time, and security went smoothly. I should have known something was wrong. The plane had been delayed coming from Brasil and was going to be departing three and a half hours late. I was going to miss my connection in São Paulo and would have to stay in a hotel. On the positive side, I had plenty of time to get some overpriced breakfast to eat. I got coffee and a bagel and paid 8 bucks for a days worth of wi-fi (for which I found out later they double charged my card).
I was happy to finally get on the plane. Even the hour of de-icing time sitting on the tarmac did not bother me. I was on my way to what my mother aptly called my “happy place.”
