I'm in Chicago for work this week, training a crop of new hires. We're booked at a hotel I've stayed at half a dozen times before, a short walk from the office.
Only this time, after checking in, when I told someone where I was staying, they said, "Oh."
You know, the sagging, "Oh" that leaves you wondering what the rest of the story is?
Turns out, someone was stabbed to death in my hotel two weeks ago. AWESOME.
I checked the BedBug Registry, but didn't think to look at police reports. The good news? It doesn't appear to be a random attack - of the variety in which some creeper is hiding under your bed. But that hasn't stopped me from checking the shower every time I come in - just to be on the safe side.
It's gotten me thinking about what happens in my hotel room before it becomes mine. While someone dying in my room is a pretty long shot (I hope), there are other situations that probably have occurred. A prostitute turning a trick? High school kids throwing a party? A drug deal going down? A marriage ending? A child conceived?
I've gotten you thinking now, haven't I? It's kind of hard to stop once you imagine other people in your hotel room.
I could try to be all deep and extrapolate some moral from this situation, like how interwoven our lives are or something... but instead I think I'll just leave a juicy tip for housekeeping. Thanks to them, I can pretend I'm the only person who has ever used this room.
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