Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Let it be known.

I do not like being an overnight house guest.

The experience makes me miserable. That's right, this is all about me. The discomfort starts with me knowing that I am intruding. No matter how much you tell me otherwise, you'd rather have me stay over at the Marriott. Even if the room is costing upwards to$200, I am not going to use your home to save money. There's a reason the hotel charges what it does. I'm a $200 pain-in-the-ass. It's a bargain.

The rest is about control. I know of no one who stays up later than me. What am I going to do with myself if you turn in at 10? I may want to watch TV all night, or raid your refrigerator. If I carry on like normal, you will not get a good night's sleep. I might add that I sleep in. Don't wake me up at the crack of dawn and feed me breakfast, or talk to me, or look at me. I require coffee, a newspaper, and quiet. I start each day by rearranging my balls, scratching my butt, taking a long whiz with the door open and stumbling to my paper and black coffee. No, I don't want cream or sweetener. That's for the weak. Besides, your coffee is probably not nearly strong enough, is served in a cup (as opposed to a mug) and perhaps has some not-as-God-intended flavor to it like vanilla.

Then there's my mysophobia. It's not quite the severity that was experienced by Howard Hughes, but just enough to pique my already rising anxiety level. I feel as bad about me having my ass on your toilet and wiping my infested hands on your towels just as much as I wonder if your fixtures and linens are clean. Sure, the Marriott presents the same issues, but I know, as a paying customer that I can call them out on this. It would certainly hurt your feelings if I mentioned your lackluster effort in maintaining a sterile environment. The biological remnants of my visit are certainly no joy to you.

It's your rules. Your routine. Your schedule. Your habits. You have a right to live in your castle as you see fit. No matter how accommodating you may be or not be, I am stressed. No matter what you do, I think your actions are driven by my presence.

What I'd like is to meet up with you, go eat somewhere ( I buy) , let you show me around town, have some drinks during a long overdue chat. When the evening closes, I go back to my room and reflect on the great day we shared. You can go home and do what you normally do.

See you tomorrow, my friend, but not before noon.

Oddly enough, I don't mind having overnight guests. You get the run of the house and I do whatever I normally do. I show you where the loose food is and afford you a private bathroom and a TV in your bedroom. All I ask is that you buy dinner.


Sarah said...

Being a house guest is about the same level of discomfort as camping, except with camping you already expect to be out of your element. I will say that a video iPod has eased my overnight guest experiences (or forced roommate situations for work). I can be entertained quietly in the dark.

Call Me Cate said...

I have so much anxiety over staying at any home not belonging to me. When we visit our hometown, there are six homes between our various family members and we still pay for a hotel. I just can't handle it.

Unlike you, I want to believe I am happy to have people stay with us. But I'm really not. They mess up my bathroom, want food, need entertained, torture my cats. Yuck. I'd almost rather pay for them to go stay in a hotel than stay in our guest room. Too bad we have a guest room.

TMC said...

AMEN. My own parents don't even stay at the house when they visit. We're hotel people when we're not at home.

And I agree, if I'm letting you stay over at my place, it usually means you're like family and you should act that way.