The Curious Case of 5 Star Hotels

Hotels, what funny places! They’re a bit like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, everything runs smoothly and The hotel staff are a bit like invisible Oompaloompas, you hardly ever see them and I’m pretty sure if you beg and provoke for long enough at least one of them will stand up and perform a musical number on what a screwed up little child you are or something.

I have stayed in a couple of hotels in my life, they all smell the same, they all have the musical staff and they all have mini shampoos and hand creams that I can’t help but take home with me.

However, my most recent hotel experience is a little more eventful.

As I type this, I am sitting on a bed in The Westcliff Hotel in Johannesburg. This particular place of accommodation is actually right around the corner from my house. No, I did not run away from home, and even if I did I would probably be able to afford a lovely room under a bus bench, not an en suite in one of Johannesburg’s finest hotels.

Unfortunately the reason why I’m here is not where my story gets exciting,it’s quite ordinary actually, I’m spending time with my Dad and Stepmother (hold onto your seats, that was an intense fact).

But that obviously is not the eventful part, the eventful part happens roughly 15 minutes after I arrive at The Westcliff.

I get stuck in the bathroom.

If you’ve read my post from 8 September 2010 entitled “Oh dear…there she goes again, yet another disaster story” or if you’ve hung around me for longer than 15 minutes, you will understand that I am a walking disaster zone. My most recent talent is getting stuck in Toilets.

Bathroom doors must have secret meetings in which they plot my demise, I have been stuck in bathrooms of all shapes and sizes: friend’s bathrooms, public bathrooms, my own bathroom. I can now proudly add “hotel” to the growing list.

The simple explanation for how I got myself stuck was that the lock didn’t work. I locked myself in with no way of getting out. Luckily my sister found out about my predicament and called my dad who called the hotel staff who came to get me out.

From what I could hear there was utter panic on the other side of the door, about three people told me to be calm and to breathe deeply while I really should have been the one telling them that. All I did was wait patiently until the lock had been broken and I had been set free. This, dear friends is when being accident prone comes in handy, nothing phases me anymore.

While in that small, well ventilated room I really relished in how many things I could accomplish while being on my own. I updated my Facebook status, counted squares of toilet paper and made patterns out of the tiles, it was wonderful.

One good thing did come out of my battle with the bathroom door, we were given permission to use the ” Presidential Suite” for the night…nothing should be that massive.

I don’t think I’ll ever stay in a hotel with the calibre of the Westcliff ever again and even though the doors need to be kept under control, it is a pretty groovy place to be.

Peace out, homies 🙂






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