Way back when, when I was a weary business traveler, I frequented a certain upscale hotel quite a bit, and I'd earned the perks and recognition of becoming a regular client.
One night, on an extended stay, I went out to a local watering hole for gentlemen-who-prefer-showtunes after an extended business dinner that involved a good deal of wine and vodka. Several more drinks later, I found myself being chatted up by a swarthily charming Latino. Names weren't so important it seems, as we both kept forgetting each other's. This is understandable because Bob is a tough one to remember, and I'm pretty much shit with names.
Anyway, we bought each other some tequila shots, did the flirty thing and in reasonably short order were back at the hotel having hot, sweaty, porn-star quality sex. And then we went to sleep, as you do.
And then I remember the phone ringing.
Whaaa? A wake-up call already? I'd only been asleep a few minutes, it seemed. And where was Raul or Miguel or Pablo or whatever his name was? He didn't want to stay for breakfast? Not necessarily a bad thing. At least I wouldn't have to ask him his name again.
I shook my head, hoping to clear the Cuervo fuzziness, looked at the clock which read 3:30 and answered the phone.
"Yes, is this Mr. Bobzyeruncle?"
"This is the front desk ... we have a Raul/Miguel/Pablo down here and he says he knows you?"
"Oh yes, send him up, by all means, thank you."
Bless, he must have gone out for smokes. They often come back. Quit rolling your eyes, they do. I swear.
And how good of reception to be on the lookout for unregistered guests trying to get back into the hotel?
A few minutes later there's a knock on the door.
I jump out of bed, wearing nothing but a smile, swing open the door and say, "Hola handsome, welcome back."
There's my friend, wearing a hotel bathrobe, accompanied by Security.
"You know this guy?" Security growled.
"Yes, yes, come in. Ohmygod, what happened?" I asked, ducking behind the door in a too-late-for-modesty-maneuver, not quite clear what was going on.
The security guard smirked and said, "He'll tell you" and then walked away.
R/M/P (we'll call him rump, because he did have a nice one) came in, totally freaked. Seemed he'd gotten up to have a pee and walked into the hallway instead of the bathroom ... stark naked, smelling of lube and whatnot, and more than a little sticky.
It seems I was dead-to-the-world passed out asleep and couldn't hear him knocking. So there Rump was, starkers, trying not to piss himself and trying to get into a room that wasn't his and he couldn't remember my name to tell security who the room was registered to. They called housekeeping, found him a robe, took him down to the front desk to sort out whose room we were in.
Poor guy, he was shattered. So we had a laugh (well, I did), opened the mini-bar, had another shag and both went back to sleep.
We had breakfast delivered, he took my number and then never called. Imagine.
It was probably more embarrassing for him than me, but for the next two days at the hotel, and for three subsequent stays, I couldn't pass by reception and/or security without a knowing smile, a snarky "how was your evening?", or an all-too-helpful "do you need an extra key today?"