Dear Occupants of Room 665 and Room 764: We Know What You Were Up To.

Dear Internet,

The trip to Poppyville has ended, and too damned soon if'n you ask me.

Given the outrageous number of frequent flyer miles I have, we were able to fly in (on relatively conveniently scheduled flights) and stay at The Grand Posh Hotel. The only catch is that if we wanted to stay there under this "plan" we wouldn't be able to specify much in the way of a room. We'd get what we'd get. However, this hotel is ludicrously posh and close to the clients and Poppy and we had an event to attend, so we took our chances. Luckily for us, the room was HUGE, with a monumental kingsized bed for which a zillion geese had made the ultimate sacrifice.

This hotel, incidentally is obviously a relic from the age of Grand & Posh Hotels...and it's obvious because the hallways are ridiculously wide, the ceilings are vaulted and space is otherwise wasted in grandiose ways.


Friday we landed, checked in, and immediately traipsed to the extremely lovely and wildly gracious Poppy's pied-a-terre, where the full clan was there to welcome us with maximum Buxomness.

Now, Poppy will swear up and down that she is no foodie. Pshaw. That is the falsest of modesty. She managed to score some serious cheese and charcuterie that, frankly, would have thrilled us had it been dinner. Several Manhattans later, hoarse from catching-up-laughter, we sat down to a great dinner and excellent wine (a delightfully articulate Chablis) and then we repaired to the living room, laughed uproariously some more and when finally TFBIM -- who had had a Hell of a day -- started fading out we schlepped back to our hotel, fairly exhausted having been lavished with victuals and ardent spirits.

Saturday was Client Day. Our clients are less modest about their foodie tendencies and ordered in lunch from this place, which from all indications is a serious hit with the People in Poppyville. This place, incidentally, is colossally good. Deceptively downscale, it is hardcore foodie-good. So, we noshed and discussed and signed papers and all that clientish stuff. Later that evening we had a dinnah to attend at our very same Grand & Posh hotel (meaning we were free to enjoy the sommelier's largesse). This dinnah went fine, mostly discussion-ish stuff and roundtable-ness. Food was good. Wines were good.

So, once again exhausted (having been lavished with victuals and ardent spirits) we repaired to our chambers, to enjoy an evening of well-earned rest.


Turns out that our room was adjacent to the bridal suite.

You see where this is going, don't you?

Uh huh.

The problem is that at Ye Olde Grande Hotel the beds have real headboards, as opposed to those fake ones that are firmly affixed with bolts to the wall. This means the headboards have some sway. Hold that thought.

So we collapse in a tired heap in bed. We begin to snooze merrily. About 90 minutes into some excellent sleeping we hear this PWAP-PWAP-PWAP..........PWAP-PWAP..................PWAP.....PWAP....PWAP-PWAP-PWAP-PWAP. Somewhat alarmed, TFBIM asked me to find out what in the Hell that racket was. In a dark, unfamiliar room, trying to track down the source of mysterious tappeting sounds when half awake is the Devil's own job. So I stagger blindly and I notice the sound gets louder the closer I get to the far wall. So, I put my ear to the wall.



Then the room ABOVE us, in a classic example of morphic knowledge, starts making the same damned noise.

As we were checking out, the lady at the desk, seeing our room number snickered and said something to the effect of "Oh, my. You were next to the bridal suite, huh?"

So that's how I spent my summer vacation.



Better you than me!
Stomper Girl said…
Heh heh. Ah but, remember the days...
Remember the days sure. But these days all I want to do is sleep if I have had a few wines.
Sooner hear the thumping than the moaning and agroaning I guess.

But still... ewwwwwww.
shula said…
And what are you going to do? Tell them to pipe down?

Joke said…
FWIW, things were not protracted for either set of occupants.

So that was good, as we had an early plane to catch.

Major Bedhead said…
Your post was making me hungry, til I got to the pwap-pwap-pwap bit.
h&b said…
1. 'delightfully articulate chablis' - my, how I want to try that

2. I didn't think anyone 'did it' on their wedding night ?

3. You should have competed, thus drowning them out with your own rumpy-pumpy noise.
That'll learn 'em
meggie said…
I was going to comment, until I read H & B's comment. Then I fainted, in remembrance, Heh!
MsCellania said…
Well, this one made me laugh - I can see you, in your high-faluting pjs, with your ear pressed up against the wall - relaying back to TFBYM "Oh, God Save Us! I hope there's no Viagra involved..."
My mother and sister decamped to London for the sister's high school graduation gift trip. They did the usual and stayed at a hotel frequented by airline employees. Well, this hotel had paper-thin walls, and the couple next door were going for the SexOlympics Gold! Mom said every piece of furniture in that place got a workout, much to her dismay and my sister's hilarity. About half way through, the female half started with the moaning and groaning, ending with shrieking and squealing, which made my sister bang on the wall and yell, "ENOUGH ALREADY - SHE'S FAKING IT, MISTER!"
Dead Silence from the next room. Squeaking of mattress a couple more times, nothing more.
The next morning as my mother and sister are leaving early to grab breakfast before a tour, the frisky couple also exited their room - and my mother and sister's jaws dropped - it was their flight attendant from the previous day's flight, and a captain from the same airline! The woman recognized them and turned beet red. So did my sister.

After that fiasco, we all just clap pillows over our heads if we suffer the same fate.
MsCellania said…
I mean if a hotel neighbor starts in with the antics - not that we cover our faces so no one hears us shrieking or squealing!
I reckoned I better clear that one up.

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