Notes from the Road
Part Four: Minneapolis
The heat in my room made an awful buzzing sound. I had maintenance come twice to “fix” it. The second time I called I was told that the buzzing was normal… I’m a woman. Things like that are said to me all the time. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s normal.” But when the maintenance dude came to fix it he was like, “Oh, yeah. That’s not normal.” See? I’m not as dumb as my vagina makes me appear to be. So, he “fixed” it again.
At 4:30 in the morning I woke up to the buzzing again. I turned the waves on my phone louder and could not only still hear the buzzing, but now had loud-ass waves crashing in my ear. I called the front desk and announced that if I didn’t switch rooms I was going to have a nervous breakdown. This was not hyperbole. I was connected to sanity by a very frayed thread at that point.
So, I packed up my shit again and moved rooms. (I was given the advice to unpack immediately while on tour to cut down on stress and make myself feel more like I’m at home.) My new room is quiet. It also has a vague scent of the elephant pens at the circus. I can’t, folks. I just can’t. It is what it is. If you never hear from me again it’s because I did stick my head in the microwave and was so embarrassed that it doesn’t work like a gas oven that I went into hiding for the rest of time.
I did get a $30 gift certificate to the hotel restaurant for my troubles. I slept until 1pm and then rolled down there and ate a huge cheese plate like a fucking boss. A boss whose room smells like elephant poop and stale popcorn.
Also, you can bet your ass I’m not unpacking this time…