Thursday night, while Andrew was off playing a poker tournament, I was happily holed up in our hotel room. This is the third or fourth weekend-long tournament I’ve attended with Andrew. I’m used to being abandoned for hours at a time, for event after event. I usually go down for dinner breaks and to check in every once in awhile. But, for the most part, I spend time alone in the hotel and I’m fine with that.
I typically try and wait up for Andrew to return, but I was absolutely exhausted on Thursday night. Thanks to leaving home at 6:30 am, and a busy morning, I was more than ready for sleep. I spread out on our huge, comfy, King size bed, and fell asleep. Usually, I’m quite a light sleeper. But, the combination of being dead tired, a ridiculously comfortable bed and a blissfully SILENT hotel room free of snoring boyfriend and meowing cat must have lulled me into a deep sleep. Like, sleep through an earthquake sleep.
That was, until 1:30 am when my phone started ringing. It was Andrew. I figured he might be calling to tell me to come watch him play the final table, so I answered groggily.
“WHERE ARE YOU?” he asked.
I informed him that I was in the hotel room bed…and asked where he was.
“I’m outside the door—I’ve been banging down the door for nearly a half an hour!”
See, I’m a paranoid little bunny. I have watched enough Law and Order to know that people hide in hotel rooms, in showers, and under beds when they wish to murder you in cold blood. Plus, I don’t know who’s on my floor. So, I use the locks. And the deadbolt. Seems smart to me, right?
Well, apparently, Andrew tried to get in and couldn’t. He banged on the door and couldn’t get in. Instead of calling the room
like a freaking normal human, he thought there was something wrong with the key and went downstairs to get a new key. He tried that; still no luck. Andrew claims he knocked on the door repeatedly, called, sent texts, and did everything but send a carrier pigeon, but I was dead asleep.
Next, he got a security officer. The officer proceeded to interview Andrew about a myriad of topics: was she drinking tonight? Does she have any medical history? Does she take any drugs? Was she alone?
This, my friends, is where my level-headed, completely sane boyfriend started to LOSE HIS SHIT. Apparently, Andrew thought I was dead, hurt, in some sort of coma or something horrible. See? Living with me and my neuroses has made him more paranoid! I’m rubbing off on him! He continued banging, banging, banging, while the security officer tried like the dickens to get into the room and “investigate.”
Finally, a phone call woke me up. I went to the door, boobs hanging out, hair up in all directions, makeup smudged across my face, thinking it was just Andrew. But no, a security officer wanted to come in and check out the room. I sleepily explained that I was just sleeping, and that the most exciting thing that’d happened that night was that I’d typed lesson plans and researched recipes. Oh, and finally saw the finale show of “16 and Pregnant” and cried my face off.
The security guard WOULD NOT GIVE UP and asked when he could come back. I assured him that it wasn’t really necessary, that I was totally fine, but he said he wanted to come back and take a look around. I told him again: I AM FINE. I WAS ASLEEP. Seriously, dude, I was asleep, not enjoying some drug-and-alcohol fueled orgy or being bludgeoned to death or anything exciting. Andrew finally got him to leave, and then told me how worried he was. It was cute, but I’m all, “Hey, babe—I’M STILL TIRED AND NOW IT’S TWO A.M.!”
This morning, I asked him exactly what he was afraid had happened, hoping to cash in on some of the cuteness from the night before. Instead, Andrew thought I might have some how made it all the way through the Gilmore Girls series and decided I had nothing else to live for.
The drama didn’t end there: I came back from breakfast this morning to find a security guard outside my door, speaking into his radio and telling them that no one was in the room but everything seemed fine. Later? Yet another one was outside, patrolling the hallway, and once again making notes outside our door.
The lesson here? DO NOT USE THE DEADBOLT.