Tuesday, July 12, 2011

priority status (m)

Drove for six straight hours to get to our hotel. It's hot, I'm cranky. Harrison's long legs couldn't get comfortable in the car. My plantar fasciitis in my right heel is throbbing.

Get to the hotel and there's no clerk at check-in. I'm waiting and waiting at the front desk. No bell to ring. I call out, "Hello?" Nothing.

Five minutes later, a young woman comes to the front desk. She is wiping her hands on a paper towel. Ewww.

She welcomes me and asks me to approve the room rate on the reservation. I offer my AAA card for proof. She waves it off. She says I'm a Priority Club member. I don't recall having signed up for this "club" but she says I get "perks."

She hands me a paper bag with a small bottle of room-temperature Dasani water and a trick-or-treat sized bag of Cheetos.

There was a time when I would have ripped into the Cheetos. Now, I just give them to someone.

I took comfort in knowing this was progress for me.

No comments:

Post a Comment