I am presently not staying at the Ritz-Carlton.
In fact, I have never stayed at a Ritz-Carlton. Not to say I wouldn't, if the opportunity were to present itself, but so far it has not.
However, while I have never spent the night at a Ritz facility, the fact is that my middle son lives in one! That just seems odd to me. This is a guy from a strictly middle-class family, with no rich relatives that we know about (or we would certainly try to make their acquaintance - just kidding :) ) who lives at one of the world's premier vacations spots. No, he is neither the manager, assistant manager, nor even a bellhop.
He is a musician, whose band plays in their nightclub in one of the foreign "vacation destinations" in Indonesia (And it is so prestigious that even the president of the United States stays there when he visits that country.) It simply boggles my mind - but it also explains a few things.
Because they are the "house band" and work under contract for six months to a year at a time, they are also provided all the perks that go with living in such a rarefied atmosphere. He is hungry? He picks up the phone and room service delivers whatever he asks for. All expenses paid by the hotel management.
Laundry needs to be done? You pick up the phone, fill out the form, and voila' the next day it all re-appears clean, pressed and folded. Also paid for by the Ritz.
No need to make the bed, or hang up the towels, it will all be taken care of when the maid service does up the room. And the flat-screen TV has about 500 channels - give or take.
So, then this ne'er do well, but lovable world-wanderer comes stateside for a visit, and well... we just aren't the Ritz. What can I tell you?
He wanted a sandwich. I pointed in the direction of the kitchen and said they were in there. He looks puzzled, but wanders (he is good at that) over and takes a look around. No sandwich to be seen.
"Uh, Mom, I don't see the sandwiches. Where are they?"
"Why they are right here under your nose. Here is a loaf of bread, here in the fridge are the mayo, lettuce, and lunch meat. Here in this drawer is where you find the silverware with which to assemble the ingredients for a sandwich. All you have to do is put it together."
"Huh?", he mutters incomprehensibly, as if to say, "You mean it doesn't come all put together?"
The Mom (that would be me) sighs and asks herself, where did I go wrong? Oh, it was probably when I made those kajillion sandwiches for him, and handed them to him all "put together."
Towels on the bathroom floor? "Oh, son (in a cheery little sing-song voice) I am not the maid here, I am the Mom."
"Huh?", he mutters as he nevertheless picks up the towel and hangs it haphazardly over the rod.
"Oh, Mom, are we doing any laundry today?"
"I don't know whether you are or not, son, but I am running a few loads. Why" :) :) :) And so it goes.
I could get irritated, but I only see him about once a year. And I must remember that where he lives, everything is provided for him and to him, 24/7, all at his request and all paid for because he is a musician; and evidently a good enough one that it has earned him a berth at the Ritz for a year at a time. He works there, lives there, eats there, and pretty much conducts his life within those 65 or so stories. Who knew?
On the other hand, I am already on 24/7 duty, with his sick brother, so the world-wanderer is on his own, so to speak.
"Huh?" I mutter to myself, incomprehensibly. "Well, sorry, fella, but this isn't the Ritz." I'm just saying ....
But you know what? Decent upbringing will come out, because when it comes time to go to bed, and we are one bed short, because the roll-away bed I ordered last week has not yet arrived. The Ritz-guy, immediately volunteers, "You go on to bed, Mom, I'll take the floor. You worked all day and I just wandered in." So I did. :)
# # # #
If you are not staying at the Ritz tonight either, hope someone offers you a decent sandwich, or something to lighten your load. Meanwhile, have a good evening, even if it isn't at the Ritz. It is possible. Until next time ...Marsha