To whom do I make my complaint?

I don't like to complain, but my stay at the hotel during the writing workshop was pretty boring. Some of the other participants had really exciting hotel experiences, which means they now have a lot more to write about than I do.

One woman, for instance, was awakened in the dead of the night by an unhuman scream outside her window. Turns out that a raccoon, who was nesting in a tree near the window, had evidently missed a branch and landed on the window instead. Two beady, terrified eyes. Claws screeching down the window. The woman's heart thumping. The same thing the next night. What more could a humor writer (or horror writer) want?

But no such luck for me. Not only did I not have a raccoon visit me in the night, I did not find an enormous spider in my shower (or even a small one). When I turned on the shower faucet, disgusting brown water did not come out. My linens were everything one could hope for -- fluffy, cozy, clean. The lights all worked, as did the refrigerator and iron. My neighbors did not loudly share any personal details about their love lives. I did not discover a severed finger under my pillow. Yawn.

I wish I knew what went wrong. Should I have tipped the bellman more? Who do I complain to about my boring stay?

This is not to say that I didn't enjoy my stay at all. I was thrilled, for instance, to be able to use my hair dryer on high. If I were to attempt this at home, in our 1840s rowhouse with bad wiring, our entire row of homes would descend into darkness for a week. At home I must keep my dryer on low, putzing along ("behaving in an idle manner," says my dictionary about "putzing") at about 2 watts. This does give me plenty of time to muse on the more important things in life, such as what should be done to people who wear dark socks with white shoes. But at the hotel, where I could use the entire 1875 watts, I exulted in the blast of air like a dog with its head out the car window. In fact, I kept the dryer on way past when my hair was actually dried, just for the fun of it.

Also at the hotel, there was both hot and cold water in the shower, allowing me to adjust it to the perfect temperature. Imagine! Ours, for some reason known only to itself, will only spout out hot water, and that somewhat grudgingly. I suppose this is better than only spouting out cold, but it does get uncomfortable after a while, and you come out feeling like you've been through the dishwasher. The good thing is that you know you are 100% germ free.

But perhaps the best thing about my hotel room was the sight that first greeted me when I stepped into the bathroom. There, spread out like a never-ending banquet table, was an enormous counter. Free of clutter. And all mine!

At home, of course, our bathroom counter space is approximately equivalent to the size of a soap dish. This explains why I am forever fishing things out of the sink and the wastebasket and why I would be fishing them out of the toilet if we weren't obsessive about keeping the lid closed at all times. When we first moved in, I wanted to buy some sort of rolling cart, like they have at the hair salon, to keep all my stuff on. The only reason I didn't was that there was no more room to store the cart than there was room on the bathroom counter.

So you can see that all this space and working faucets and adequate outlets at the hotel was a big deal to me. I guess I will have to be content with that. But the next time I go to a conference, I'll be sure to ask for a room with a raccoon view.