Sleeping in the janitor's closet

Back at the airport, enjoying the free albeit limited wifi that the terminal offers those temporarily seeking shelter before getting on that winged-tin can that'll shuttle them on to another part of the globe. Apparently, the smoking lounge here at Mactan has gone through some minor alterations, most notable of which is the "holding area" and the absence of the couch which I used to love so much. Well, that's all right, I guess. Not too many airports with smoking lounges that I've been in.

*****

Having been advised by the big boss to seek accommodations that somewhat reflect my position in his company, I've moved up from the shabby quarters that I used to occupy at our Mandaue City office and booked myself in a hotel in Cebu. However, my stingy nature still managed to resurface and I got the cheapest room they had available. Sure, it was to be paid for by the company, but I guess I'm just comfortable occupying meager lodgings. Force of habit, probably.

The girl manning the front desk at the hotel asked me to reconsider. Their studio unit was small, she says and I might be more comfortable in their standard rooms. Immediately, I presumed that this was a required upselling strategy and declined. She insisted I at least take a look first before deciding, a fair offer, but I was tired and wanted to settle in as soon as possible so I told her there was no need. She took my credit card, booked me, and told me that should I want to upgrade she'd gladly take care of it.

I took the elevator up to the seventh floor and looked for my room. I wandered the whole floor, but couldn't find room 711. I circled the floor again and wondered if she was mistaken about the room number. I looked down at my keys and indeed, it did say 711. Maybe they had another wing? I was about to take the service elevator back down to the lobby to straighten this out, and while waiting glanced at the emergency stairwell right beside it. Lo and behold, through the clear glass door leading to the stairs, I spotted a green door with the number 711 on it. Hmm, seems suspicious. Apparently, last year's renovation had been an opportunity to add another room to the hotel. I went through the emergency exit, put my key on the keyhole and there it was, my room. It was small, alright, but had all the basic amenities I asked for, airconditioning, cable television, toilet and bath and a window. They even put a single seater sofa in it. I plopped down on the bed and instantly snoozed my tires away.

I woke up just past ten in the evening, and only then got the chance to look around. Surveying the really big electrical panel behind the door, I suspect that this space used to be the electrical room. The main switch was rated at 100 amperes, big enough for a three bedroom house. Immediately I checked my balls to see if they were fried from electromagnetic pulses that this panel probably generated, one two, they seemed intact to me, not yet hard boiled but we can never be sure, can we? The toilet and bath was confined in a small space that if you took a shower you'd have a hard time contorting your body to get to those hard to reach places without bumping into the toilet bowl, and the hot shower took ten minutes to kick in, just in time to thaw you out from impending hypothermia. Alas the view from the window was spectacular! You just have to peer past four or five condensing units and the large ducts that impeded it. Well, at least you still had a peephole of a view to enjoy at least, more than I can say for the other ratholes I've encountered. So it wasn't the Shangri-La, but it was livable at least. (Just not sure if my sperm cells agreed, though)