Hotels and Me

I was excited to stay at the new Cosmopolitan hotel in Vegas. It's sleek and modern; it's not trying to imitate a foreign city, no volcanos, no roller coasters.

I unlocked the door to the room and walked in. First glance, everything looks good. Spacious, nicely appointed. Then I opened the closet to unpack. Staring me in the face? Dirty men's dress socks.

Ok, the cleaning person missed them. They were in the closet; I can overlook that.

Next, I open the sliding door and step onto the balcony. Empty (dirty) drink glass, pack of cigarettes, full ashtray, miscellaneous wrapper. I won't be relaxing out there!

Bathroom is next. Half-used bottle of mouthwash on the sink. Long black hairs on the white rug on the floor.

Talked with my pal Sal, who has a room seven floors up. Her suite is great. Two bathrooms, no leftover stuff, and a view of the Bellagio fountains.

Why do I have such weird hotel karma?