Tucson Part 1: Trouble in the Big City

Oh, my goodness… What extraordinary contentment met me when I saw Steve and Gayle yesterday afternoon, outside the Hotel Arizona in sunny Tucson.

It certainly did not begin that way. The last two weeks have been extraordinarily difficult. Time at home was a rarity, and time with Nate rarer still; with work demands and all my extracurricular activities coming to a head, and a sudden plethora of gigs and other work demanding Nate spend his time away from home, working to help pay for our staggering tax bill.

Early Friday morning, Nate dropped me off at the airport in front of the Southwest terminal. I was unusually productive for the hour or so before my flight to Tucson boarded, which gave me a feeling that the day might end up being a productive and successful one. I had an IABC meeting to attend—one of two annual meetings for president-elects prior to their taking the helm of their respective local chapters. Unfortunately, the meeting coincided directly with the writing and editing phase of our monthly Pulse newsletter, of which I am editor.

This would not have been an issue if Nate and I had not planned a little mini-vacation with Steve and Gayle at their Tucson home, post-conference. We stayed here with them last year for a few days, and it was the most relaxing and enjoyable vacation we have ever had. Steve and Gayle are co-directors with Nate for the National Guitar Workshop, and they have spent many weeks together every summer traveling the West Coast and overseeing the week-long guitar camps put on by the NGW. So we have become great friends along the way.

My plan was to skip out on the group dine-around that evening and finish up the Pulse in my hotel room. Then, my mind could be free for a few days until we returned home.

Ah, plans. Little did I know a perfect storm was brewing.

When I arrived at the hotel at 10:30 a.m. I told the front desk I knew I was very early, but did they have any rooms they could give me for early check-in. (I was very tired and banking on a morning nap to get me through the day.) But no, they could not “check anyone in until 3 p.m.,” so I inquired as to the surroundings and got a code to log on to the free wireless. I figured I would make the best of it and work on the Pulse now.

After a watery bean and cheese burrito I settled at a table outside the restaurant with a Twix bar and a large glass of milk (to try and get the burrito taste out of my mouth). I checked my email and worked a little on the newsletter, but was soooo sleepy I could barely hold my head up. Oh, well.

(Note: Gayle just brought me a ramekin full of lightly sugared strawberries and purple grapes. She is the consummate hostesss!)

At noon I had reached a new low for myself and figured I would go beg the front desk to at least let me sleep on a couch somewhere (this is what pregnancy will do to you—it takes you to a place of extreme desperation that does away with any inhibitions you might have otherwise possessed.) When I got up to the desk, they were checking in a group of ladies so I took my place in line and checked in like the rest of them. SCORE. I had a bed. And time for a quick 30-minute nap before my meeting started.

On my way out I went to the bathroom (a common occurrence in pregnancy) and then changed out of my travel clothes into meeting clothes. When I went to turn off the bathroom light I noticed the floor was flooded and the toilet still running. So I called the front desk and said there was a flooding emergency. They said they would take care of it, so off to my meeting I went.

At our 3:00 break, Rob, one of my colleagues, said he needed to go check on his room because earlier his bathroom ceiling had been leaking water.

I said, “What a coincidence! I had water problems, too. My toilet overflowed earlier.”

Rob said, “What floor are you on?”

“Four.”

“I’m on three! What room are you in?”

“Four-twenty.”

“No way!! I’m in three-twenty!”

At which time I had to reassure Rob that it was not dirty water that had been overflowing through his ceiling, just running water. I’m still not quite sure he believed me. On his return, Rob told me the problem was taken care of (though the room still messy) so I assumed my room was in the same state of repair and we both assumed that housekeeping would replenish our towel supplies and wipe down the floors by the time we returned from our meeting, at 5:30.

Ah, no. That didn’t happen.

When I got back up to my room at 5:30 I called the front desk again, said that my room had been fixed of a leaky toilet but that all my towels were wet on the floor and could they come take care of that and bring me new towels. “Of course! We’ll take care of that for you right away,” they said.

I tried to work on the Pulse a bit, but it was gaining on 6 p.m. and I really wanted to get some food and disappear back to my room before the crowd met for dinner in the lobby at 6:30. I was really hungry (my last meal was the watery burrito at 10:45) and didn’t want to wait until after they had gone, so I thought I’d slip down to the restaurant and order a burger to-go.

But I met everyone in the lobby.

Don’t get me wrong—I love these people, and I had things I needed to talk with them about. But I was exhausted, hungry, and near wit’s end and only wanted to be in my room, eating and getting my work done so I could go to sleep.

I ordered my burger and sat down with them while I waited. 30 minutes passed and they left, and I went to check on my hamburger. They sent three people back to check on it over the next 30 minutes, none of which returned until the manager came back out at 7 p.m. and asked me what exactly my order had been; they needed to put it in again.

At this point, I was holding back tears and was SO hungry and tired that all I could blurt out was, “Don’t cook anything. I’m pregnant and I’m starving and I just need to eat. I cannot wait anymore. Thanks, though.”

At the end of my rope, I walked as fast as I could through the hotel lobby to the elevators, trying not to let the tears fall or look noticeably upset. At the last minute I decided to take the stairs, unable to face an elevator ride with another human being. I couldn’t hold back the sobs on my way up the four flights of stairs to my room, and by the time I got to room 420 I was fully sobbing, out of breath, and really—really—hungry.

(to be continued…)