As we get older, it becomes harder and harder to travel by airplane – or by any means of transportation, really – early in the morning. So we were disgruntled to learn that the only flight available for Bill to travel to Denver yesterday for a business meeting left at 5:15. Sadly, that would be A.M., my friends. While it’s not unusual for me to be awake at 5:15, I’m generally still snug in my bed, saying my morning prayers if I’ve remembered to do so. As for Bill, he is more likely to sleep until 7. You’ll have to ask him about morning prayers.
Since the plane left at 5:15, it was going to be necessary to be at the airport sometime in the neighborhood of 4 o’clock. Usually, Bill and I are dutifully at the airport a full two hours before our flight time, but even we thought it probably wouldn’t be necessary when you’re leaving before even the birds are awake. We are TSA pre-approved, and the Frontier presence in Phoenix is small. Still, if he left from our house, a wake-up call sometime around 2 would be in order.
So we decided instead to stay at a hotel near the airport where he could sleep in until 3:30 and take a hotel shuttle to the airport, while I could continue getting my beauty sleep, arising completely rested at 8 o’clock, and call it a mini-staycation.
He booked us a room at a hotel called the Aloft Hotel that is a stone’s throw from the airport. I mean, click on the link. If that’s not Bill and me, I don’t know who it is. We weren’t really concerned about wearing flowery sundresses or tight white shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows; Bill found us a deal, friends. You can’t turn down a deal.
The hotel was very nice, and very hip. Just as the hotel we stayed at the last time we were in New York City, the shower was visible from the bedroom. Apparently hip people like that. Bill took two showers just to see what the deal is. He was largely unimpressed both times. As for me, I didn’t look.
Unlike the other hotel guests – most who appeared to be 30-something professional men and women – we walked to the Ruby Tuesday that was next door. That, in itself, wasn’t remarkable; the fact that we walked in the door at 4:15 was what labeled us as OLD. I will tell you, however, that the place was actually quite busy. And since we had taken an Uber to the hotel, our options were limited. Besides, the salad bar was quite delicious.
After dinner, we had a drink or two at the hotel bar and then headed up to the room so Bill could take his first shower. He was tucked into bed around 7:45. As for me, I took an Ambian around 8:30 and fell asleep around 9. Being psycho, we had set three – count ‘em – three alarms for 3:15 to give him enough time to catch the 4 o’clock shuttle.
Suddenly, what felt like only a very short time later, Bill was up, wildly dressing himself, and hollering at me: Kris, it’s 3:30. We slept through the alarm!
Two things quickly went through my head: 1) Who’s we? Do you have a mouse in your pajama pocket? You see, I am not flying to Denver on a 5:15 flight; and 2) It certainly doesn’t feel as though I have been asleep for six-and-a-half hours.
And, as it turns out, I was right. Because I looked at my watch and it was 9:30 p.m.
“It’s 9:30 p.m.,” I said.
He looked stunned, and sheepishly told me he had awakened and looked at the bedside clock, which, being a hip hotel, was analog and not digital, and from whatever position he was lying, it appeared to him that the little hand was on the 3 and the big hand was on the 6. It doesn’t help that he’s dyslexic.
Aloft Hotel designers, we seniors had enough trouble moving from analog to digital clocks. Why-oh-why are you making us move backwards?
The question of why he felt the need to awaken me remains unanswered. I, of course, never went back to sleep, because that’s how I roll. While he undoubtedly slept soundly on the airplane, I played solitaire mahjong.