Knock, knock, housekeeping!
Holiday memories come to mind in the last breaths of warm days—bright afternoons and socializing with friends on the terraces of bars. There has been practically no vacation for me in the previous few summers, but when I change the seasons and put my summer collection of clothes in bags under the bed, pull out the winter ones, and stack them diligently in the washing machine, I remember the best past holidays that I had, regardless of the season.
One such trip happened just after New Year's - my January trip to Croatian Istria. This time, I didn't want to go to the apartment because it was kind of a birthday present, so I stayed in a relatively new hotel and indulged in the softness of white sheets. Under a pile of clothes in a suitcase was a mountain of vibrating treasures. When the children were ice-skating in the hotel yard in the morning, and the parents drank mulled wine, I fell on the bed, tired from breakfast, and indulged in laziness. To save time but at the same time not doing something very intense, I used the loneliness and size of the bed to try out new treasures and wipe the dust off old ones. Someone knocked on the door as my hips loosened under the weight of my knees, and my bed yoga rushed toward its final stage. At least, I thought so. I stopped playing and listened. I waited for the sound of the steps moving away.
But that didn't happen. The conviction that only my head was messing with me was growing. Then again, this time louder: "Knock, knock, housekeeping!" In a panic, I searched for my underpants, jeans, and a T-shirt that lay somewhere in the middle of the room. I opened the door, panting. "You need cleaning," she asked. I nodded, thanked, and rolled back to bed. Since the unpleasant excitement, the pleasant one has passed.
The next day, at breakfast, I came up with a plan. I rushed to the room and hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the doorknob for the first time; then, with a great sense of security, I dropped my clothes again and surrendered to the game. Meanwhile, I heard voices in the hotel hallway but continued. Knocking was prohibited by a large red sign outside the door. Unfortunately, this couldn't be further from the truth. Despite the sign on the door, I heard a muffled knock. I wondered whether it would be enough to scream that I don't need the cleaning and not bother with dressing, but politeness drove me to search for clothes or a bathrobe again. I quickly walked to the door and refused the nice lady.
It was one of the holiday stories, but enough to make me think, while folding warm wool sweaters in the closet, about what awaits the housekeepers when people check out of the hotel. When I'm in hotels, I try to sort out the room before leaving. I am more than clear that I do not have to do this, but I like to leave an exemplary room behind me and especially double-check that there is no vibrator left next to the bed or buried in the sheets.
The Internet is flooded with stories of maids who have encountered unpleasant scenes of one kind or another. The first one I read was quite innocent - the maid found a dildo under the bed. This could have easily happened to me. In another hotel, a lubricant and anal beads were discovered on a bedside table. This reminded me of my visit to the hotel during the coronavirus. I just covered the toys with a sheet and rushed out. I didn't count on the room cleaning. But I should, oh, I should. I hope they didn't change the bed. Back to topic. The third story was already a bit cheeky. Dildos were waiting for the housekeeper on the table, and a request was written on a piece of paper below if she could wash them. I don't think the she touched them.
Other stories are a bit weirder despite my open head for dirt. The couple, both married, went to the hotel for happy hours. And God, they were happy. After a few hours of fun, they called the hotel lobby to change the sheets because they were wet. Yes, they were peeing on each other's beds in the hotel room. Well, people also like to leave full condoms behind. I was intrigued by the story of the maid cleaning the room after the couple, who left the contents of the condom to slowly cook on top of the night light. Nevertheless, my stomach turned the most when it came to stories about the floor and bathroom covered in blood. I get overwhelmed when I sometimes leave a drop of blood when on my period on that snow-white bedding.
I suspected that some people were crazy, but honestly, I was expecting more funny stories, so I stopped folding winter sweaters and closed the drawer on vacations in my brain. For a while, until the next lazy afternoon covered in the hotel sheets, it will remain locked up, and when the vacation comes, I will be reassured if I leave a toy behind.
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