ROOM 666 - Day 1, second entry

(one hour later)

Dear diary,
The trial is not over yet.
I spent about ten minutes under the shower, and as I was drying myself up, the phone rang, and I was informed that my suitcase was here. I covered myself with one of the bathrobes and waited for them to bring it up to my room.
Five minutes later there was a knock on my door and the girl from the desk downstairs came in, carrying my old battered suitcase.
“This just in,” she said, staring at me. She was staring strangely, and I felt this chill, and pulled the bathrobe closer around my body.
The reception desk girl is a nice-looking young woman, with straight blond hair. She wears the hotel uniform, which I don’t like at all. The knee-length black skirt is too tight, and the red blouse is too revealing - especially if worn with the three top buttons undone, like this girl does. Also, I wonder how can she resist for a whole eight hours shift in those heels. But I guess she cannot criticize her workplace rules without running the risk of being fired.
I thanked her, and she handed me a clipboard with some papers to be signed. There was an envelope, too, from the air company. When she got her papers signed, she once again looked at me in that strange way. Then she turned on her high heels, and walked slowly out of my room, her hips swaying. I’ll have to leave a note, in the guest suggestions form, about dress code. A woman should not be forced to wear such clothes and shoes.
So, I placed my suitcase on the bed and opened it, eager to get in my comfy pajama and settle for the evening.
Imagine my surprise when I realized this is not my suitcase.


Oh, the model and color are the same, and even one corner is battered exactly the same way. And it did open when I used my key.
But inside…!

This is not my suitcase. It is some other woman’s.
There are clothes in it, and underwear, shoes.
A red tube dress made of stretchy material, a pair of black jeans and a leather mini-skirt. T-shirts, all of them black, with lurid print images of horrific creatures and monsters. Fishnet stockings. A few of those string-like panties one sometimes sees in solar oil advertisement. A leather jacket, the kind with steel studs.
And the shoes!
If I thought the poor reception desk girl was wearing high heels, now I must revise my opinion. How does a woman walk in shoes like these?
I rummaged in the suitcase, looking for documents or anything helping me identify the rightful owner. And I laughed, imagining this string-panties, high-heels, studded-leather sort of woman staring in horror at my drab sweaters and very traditional panties.
Anyway, no documents, no nothing.
A large toiletry bag, filled with bottles and jars and tubes and pencils and brushes. A carton of cigarettes and a lighter. And an electric contraption I guess is some kind of automatic shiatsu massage thing or something. It buzzes and shakes when turned on.
You can imagine how dismayed I was, dear diary.
So I called the airport, and I was told that the lost and found office is closed and will open again tomorrow morning at ten.
Which leaves me here, wrapped in my bathrobe. I have wasted one hour that I could have spent arranging tonight’s first preyer session. And yet, it’s all the Good Lord’s will. I am sure that some deep lesson will come out of this.
Now I will pick some light dinner from the room service menu. A chef salad, I think. And after dinner I will make good use of the little I have: I can read the Gideons’ Bible and then meditate for twenty minutes and then get a good night of sleep.
Tomorrow will certainly bring better things.