Room 9, Green Metallic

After that crazy day at work yesterday, my sister and I went for a drive to just take in the sights and relax a little. We left in the morning, but not too early, and by mid-afternoon we had arrived somewhere in Florida. All things considered, this was excellent time, since even the Georgia-Florida border was at least 22 - 24 hours drive away under normal circumstances.

Given that we were now so far from home, and tired after our long yet improbably-much-shorter-than-could-have-been-expected drive, we looked immediately for a hotel. Needless to say, the odds were quite good that we would find a Holiday Inn first, and that is exactly what we did find. We parked vaguely somewhere in the parking lot and entered a lobby that looked familiar--not unlike the lobby of the Kingston Hilton on Knutsford Blvd in New Kingston, Jamaica. The desk clerk gave me a funny look--a forty-something man with a teenage girl (my sister had inexplicably grown about 25 years younger), until we showed ID demonstrating our familial connections. I cannot recall the price of the room, but we were given the key and sent on our way.

And what a long way it was, too! The Holiday Inn in Delray Beach (for that is where we found ourselves) was one of those early 21st century creations: an all-inclusive resort which covered hundreds of acres, spread decadently amongst well-tended grounds, encroaching upon a newly-celebrated 18-hole golf course, covered in large measure by an outrageously large swimming pool. The many paths, turns and buildings made finding our room a challenge, compounded by the lack of adequate direction, and the confusing label, "9 Green Metallic". Soon enough we came to a large, post-modern/neo-classical outrage that was the hotel block in which was located Room 9, Green Metallic.

At first glance the building from the outside appeared to be nearly circular, with unnecessary arches intended to make it look like a cross between the colosseum in Rome and one of those Star Trek backgrounds painted on glass. Inside, however, there was nothing which approximated the circular model in the layout of corridors, many of which proceeded in different directions from the entry point, containing rooms, kiosks, sitting areas, and washrooms. We still did not know at this point what significance "green metallic" had, but we would soon find out. After circling through a wide arc of hallway to the left, we came finally to a hallway which seemed to traverse the centre of this large circular edifice. Outside the door leading to the hallway was a sign pointing to "Room 9" and underneath was written "Green Metallic" in letters which were, of course, green metallic. We entered this somewhat small passageway, and open the first door on the lefthand side. This was a tiny room, barely large enough to contain the one bed. It was also in a state of disorder, with clothes and personal effects strewn everywhere. Upon further inspection, this was not, after all, Room 9.

Returning to the circular corridor and closing the door, we opened the door to a green metallic room immediately outside this passage. Inside we found no sign of squatters, but this was also clearly NOT our room. By this time, we were quite annoyed. Following the signs closely again, we finally realized our mistake and continued for a further 1/2 kilometre around the circle, to find that Room 9 Green Metallic was located at some distance away from all other rooms. We couldn't beging to imagine why. On entering, it was clear that the label "green metallic" extended beyond merely a naming scheme, but to an interior design scheme as well. All fixtures, appliances and artwork were, indeed, green metallic. A cleaning person appeared to have just lately finished a look through the room and we could clearly hear her on her cellphone buying flowers and having them shipped to our home. We dumped our stuff and continued to look around...

Why was my sister 16 and not 40? How did we get to Florida from Canada in 6 hours? Why were we together at all? And what on earth was I doing for a living--the day before had been confusing and bizarre? Other room themes existed, but the only other one I could remember was "Blue Rattan". And since when does Holiday Inn (or anyone) operate a huge All-Inclusive resort in Delray Beach?

Before I could answer any of these questions, I woke up.

Full Disclosure

There are times when I wonder just how "honest" we are with each other, with ourselves. In fact, I wonder just how honest we can be, given that "honesty" requires something like full disclosure, and it seems likely that we simply can't get "full disclosure" of all of our hopes, fears, habits, weaknesses and disabilities. It generally takes a crisis of some magnitude to surface and qualify the nature of some of our worst defects, or greatest strengths. Or both. In the meantime, we swim around the worlds we've created blissfully (as much as possible) unaware of how much of those worlds are of our own creation, and how much are beyond our ken. Or perhaps I'm generalizing from my own specific experience--reinforcing my point-of-view without truly "connecting". If we could "only connect" as Forster so adroitly put it. (Please read some E.M.Forster if you haven't already done so! I'd start with Where Angels Fear To Tread, A Room With A View, and Howard's End. In the interest of "full disclosure" I have included the link to Amazon.com for convenience, not as an endorsement.)

I wrote that in 2007. Gad. It sat in my blog post hall of crap because I was trapped by inertia. Again. And again. Oh well. I'm posting this in the interest of "full disclosure", but not because I necessarily feel it's uplifting or enlightening, or in any way useful, but simply because today, right now, I have the urge to do so.