When the husband and I go on a complicated trip, the kind where we’re in one hotel after another, we sometimes end up one room number behind. So there we stand, in the hotel lobby, confused.
“What’s our room number?”
“I think that was last night”
Of course, for security purposes, the room number is not on the key card.
Usually, to avoid the embarrassing prospect of asking the front desk for the room number, I can manage to dredge it up from my memory. But then, because of my absolute lack of a sense of direction, I can’t find it.
That’s where the husband comes in. He is able to navigate identical hallways in symmetrical buildings that all look the same to me. That may be because, like most normal people, he retains some sense of his placement in the geophysical world.
I find this particularly helpful on cruise ships, on which I cannot tell stem from stern, port from starboard or, really, one deck from another. It’s as if I’m in a big revolving drum. And I’m drunk, which I may or may not actually be.
And, so, thus far, through some symbiotic cooperation of my memory and his sense of direction, we have always been able to return to our room or cabin and our luggage. No doubt, as our dotage approaches, we’ll come to depend on each other more heavily for this, until we are one of those elderly couples that must go everywhere together because one must drive and the other must check for oncoming traffic.
Or maybe one of us will lose our faculties and we’ll end up circling until the end of our days in some vast hotel, trying to figure out where we left our stuff.