A man in the hotel elevator commented on how hot it was outside.
”It hasn’t felt hot to me,” I said. “But then, I have been through menopause and know what hot really feels like.”
(This was followed by the slighttest of pauses before I apologized for the TMI, and he said, “Oh no, I have five older sisters, you can’t embarass me,” and then I said, “Well that just makes me want to try” as I exited the elevator. But that isn’t germane to my point about temperature.)
It only seemed hot to me on Thursday when I had the sun scouring my cheek and there was no cloud cover. Every other time I had an umbrella or tree to sit under and a mild breeze.
However, to counter the extreme heat warning, the hotel has set the thermostat in my hotel room (as well as all the common areas) to a bitter 68 degrees.
I changed my thermostat. I felt confident that I was setting the thermostat to heat, 74 degrees, and I would feel the air from the vent, and while it was not warm it was not icy. But then 15 minutes later, the air would be icy again and the thermostat would be set to 68.
Eventually I turned the thermostat entirely off and relied on God to heat the room to a comfortable temperature, which he did. But I have had it with the gaslighting thermostats in this hotel. Otherwise it has been a lovely stay.
“Well, except for the cantaloupe that tasted like meat at the restaurant,” you say.
… It occurred to me eventually that we were sharing plates and I transferred the little serving of melon / cantaloupe salad to a used plate. A used pork chop plate.
So now I’m off to Open Table to revise my published review.