Oh sure, when we checked in to the Hilton hotel in Tucson, Arizona, it seemed innocuous. Pretty, even.
We should have known when we bore witness to grass at this so-called hotel, that something was afoot. I don’t know if you non-Arizonians know this, but people in many parts of Arizona, especially the desert-like Tucson area, do not have grass. Let alone the green variety.
What, you don’t believe me? Have I ever lied to you? Okay, one time! But I was protecting not only myself but the poor frog too. I mean we were both young and stupid and he had his tadpoles to think of. I’m not proud of what I did, but we both moved on and I was sort of hoping you’d have more compassion than you are displaying right now, quite frankly. Also? I can’t walk into my laundry room with the swamp photo wallpaper without breaking down, but I must soldier on because it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
So, besides that one time, have I ever lied to you? If you’re hesitating, let me help you. The answer is no. I haven’t. In fact, I have proof of said lack of grass in Arizona. Here is my Tucsonian friend’s front yard, sans grass:
And here is his backyard:
Anyway, back to the hotel. At check-in, the front desk guy says, “…and you’re on the 5th floor in Building 1…”. We leave him and wander around the lobby because we have no idea how to get to Building 1 and almost immediately another hotel employee asks us if we need help and he starts walking us to Building 1, which involves walking outside to the courtyard, and he explains that it has three floors and we say, but we are on the 5th floor and he says that people tell him he sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger, because we have told him that we are from California (we didn’t announce it — he asked. We don’t just go walking around bragging about how we are from California out of insecurity just because we have the left the comfort zone of the big C.A. I mean, jeez, Arizona is just next door for Pete’s sake).
This helpful guy, I begin to wonder why he’s walking us all the way toward our room. He brings up the California budget and Schwarzenegger’s approval rating as he takes us around the restaurant patio and the pool and I guess he does sort of sound like the Terminator.
He’s sure that building over there is Building 1. The fact that he is wearing a white coat is in the back of my mind but it is not rising to my conscious brain. He is not dressed like a bell boy. He is dressed like a chef. He tells us he has worked here for ten years and can’t seem to reconcile the building before us that clearly appears to have only three floors, yet the guy at the front desk told us it was the fifth floor and our room number is 5109.
We finally get to the elevator and he steps inside with us and we look at him like he’s going to pull out a knife at any second and tell us to hand over our wallets and he says that he wants to see this fifth floor for himself. We look at the elevator buttons, which finally explains the confusion:
We all share an uneasy laugh together as Ahnold continues with his silly hotel banter and at this point my husband, Mr. MudPuppy, is probably wondering if he’s going to want to come in to our room for a drink or something perverted and criminal involving the words “first degree”, because as we exit the elevator on the fifth-floor-but-not-really, Mr MudPuppy says, “Okay, I think we got it from here.”
We are from the big dangerous city and are not used to such friendly service from a guy who looks like a chef and OH MY GOD what if he wasn’t a chef? What if that was a straight jacket? Is there a mental asylum nearby that has already, unbeknownst to us, issued the equivalent of an Amber alert for a escaped lunatic? Holy crap, we can’t stay here! He knows where our room is and…and we have to calm the hell down because we are from the big dangerous city and we think everyone is out to get us and steal from us and hate us and want something from us and they would never do anything nice out of the goodness of their hearts. And only crazy people talk to strangers. Strangers don’t just start talking about stuff to other people simply because they are currently breathing the same airspace.
For whatever reason, we got free breakfast every morning and I’m not talking about here is your dry cheese danish and a styrofoam cup of coffee free breakfast. I’m talking about whatever you want from the rather large cafe menu or try our all you can eat buffet free breakfast. Here’s how cheap I am…I got up BEFORE 10am just so I could partake in this free breakfast. And breakfast, while delicious, included hash browns that looked like they came out of a tuna can:
One last thing about Arizona today and I’ll let you go. Did you know that if you don’t like the name of your street, you can just change it?
We came upon this street sign for Windowmaker Road. My Tucson friend who lives near here told us that the name of the street used to be Widowmaker Road (without the “n”).
When too many of the men began dying within the first year of moving into their new homes on Widowmaker Road, the remaining residents had the street name changed.
Now I can completely understand the desire to change this name, but in what other state can you just start going around changing such heavily bureaucratic and sloth-like-maintained things? Do you have any idea how many of these signs had to be replaced??? OK, probably only two as the street is only one block long, but still. And if you’re going to get brand-new signs, why not change it to something completely different, like Married Frogs Lane? Or, Screw the Tadpoles Avenue?
I know many NGIP readers live in Arizona. Perhaps some of you can explain all this crazy behavior which by the way includes and is not limited to, the non-observation of Daylight Saving time. And why is there never a road runner around when you need one?
Thank You Notes