I had been working at a hotel for about two months when the GM announced that the sales team had done such a great job that he was taking us on a special trip as a reward. Although I had nothing to do with their results, he insisted that I come with them. We went to a beautiful resort in the Rocky Mountains and proceeded to eat and drink our way up and down the mountain. After a spectacular dinner, bar-hopping, and nightcaps in a luxury suite, we all stumbled back to our rooms to pass out -- ahem, sleep. I have no idea what time that was.
I do know that I woke up to the sound of loud stomping. When I cracked open one swollen eyelid, I was surprised by a parade of hissing ski pants passing just inches from my face. Oh, duh – I was still asleep and having a booze-fueled dream. I was in a tee-shirt and panties, actually really cold – must have kicked the covers off – why isn’t this dream changing? Why are these skiers still walking by? Where is my pillow? Is the alarm being incorporated into my dream as laughter?
Well, no, as a matter of fact. While it was true that I was in my elegant tee-shirt and underwear pajama ensemble, and also accurate that I had been sleeping, I was not in my hotel room. I had instead spent the night atop a plywood table in the hall way of the resort, right by the door that led outside to the ski lifts. Moreover, I had neither my room key nor my glasses, and there’s a good chance I didn’t know my room number. I pulled my tee-shirt down as far as it would go, curled up, and went back to sleep.
I do know that I woke up to the sound of loud stomping. When I cracked open one swollen eyelid, I was surprised by a parade of hissing ski pants passing just inches from my face. Oh, duh – I was still asleep and having a booze-fueled dream. I was in a tee-shirt and panties, actually really cold – must have kicked the covers off – why isn’t this dream changing? Why are these skiers still walking by? Where is my pillow? Is the alarm being incorporated into my dream as laughter?
Well, no, as a matter of fact. While it was true that I was in my elegant tee-shirt and underwear pajama ensemble, and also accurate that I had been sleeping, I was not in my hotel room. I had instead spent the night atop a plywood table in the hall way of the resort, right by the door that led outside to the ski lifts. Moreover, I had neither my room key nor my glasses, and there’s a good chance I didn’t know my room number. I pulled my tee-shirt down as far as it would go, curled up, and went back to sleep.
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