The Perfect Vacation

"The Perfect Vacation" is a construct as phantasmal as the elusive Sasquatch.  I have addressed this idea previously as well, and every vacation we undertake seems to only vindicate this hypothesis.  It is particularly uncanny how minor inconveniences quickly devolve into major impediments when on a vacation.  

Why this kolaveri, you ask?  Lemme tell you...

9:30 PM

We checked into the highway-side hotel in southern West Virginia.  The kids were still wide awake, so we were able to actually walk through the lobby, into the elevator, down the hallway, and into our room like regular humans, as opposed to our usual MO of skedaddling through the concourse like two kidnappers with two napping kids.  We entered our room and turned on the light.  The room was smaller than I had imagined, but it looked alright.  Pavana threw her customary what's-that-smell glance at me and I appeased her with my all-is-well expression.  No complaints there.  We quietly began unpacking for the night while the kids began their usual I-know-this-is-a-bed-but-I-will-pretend-this-is-a-trampoline jumping activity.  All certainly was well.  Up until 9:35 PM...

9:35 PM

It all started with a bathroom visitation.  You know how when you see a ball-type doorknob on the bathroom door, you automatically expect it contain a built-in lockset comprising of a lock button on one side?  Well, this doorknob had no lock button.  It looked exactly the same on both sides.  Not a big deal, I thought to myself, and came out and appraised Pavana of what I considered an insignificant shortcoming.  

That's when I received my first eye-roll.

9:50 PM

After substantial badgering and hounding, Medha finally decided to do us a favor by using the restroom and brushing her teeth.  When she was done, she came out pulled the bathroom door shut behind her.  Two minutes later, Pavana tried to to open the door.  It was locked!

"I need to pee", said Pavana irritably.

"So do I", said Medha.

Pavana and I looked at Medha, then at each other. 

"What did you do in the bathroom two minutes ago?", Pavana began interrogating Medha.

"And how did you lock the door before closing it behind you?", I added.

"Amma...", Medha began in her signature howl, "I was first trying to wash my hands but I couldn't find the soap.  Then I was looking for my toothbrush, but I couldn't find it.  So I came out to look for my toothbrush.  You never gave me the toothbrush and paste..."

"So you didn't brush either?"

"Amma... you..."

This wasn't going well.  Both of them had ignored the real problem.  I interrupted with: "Let me call the front desk".

I received my second eye-roll.

10:05 PM  

The receptionist was in our room inspecting the bathroom doorknob.  "There should be a hole for emergency unlocking...", she mumbled as she felt the doorknob.

"There's none.  I checked", I said, "and the inside didn't even have a lock button".

"That's not possible", she said.

"Lalit", Pavana interjected, "Mira needs to sleep.  It is late".

"Let me see if I can find the maintenance guy", said the receptionist.

"Please do", I said, "and please tell him that the doorknob has no lock".

"That's not possible", she said again as she walked away.

I received my third eye-roll.

10:20 PM

The lights in the room were off now and Pavana was trying to make Mira sleep.  The maintenance guy, the receptionist, Medha, and I were huddled around the doorknob like a bunch of evil scientists watching their guinea pig sprout a third ear or something.  "There should be a hole for emergency unlocking...", said the maintenance guy, feeling the doorknob.

"There's none.  I checked", I repeated and added again, "and the inside didn't have a lock button".

"That's not possible", the maintenance guy and the receptionist chorused.

"Lalit", Pavana called out from the darkness, "I'm trying to make Mira sleep.  Medha needs to sleep too."

"Appa, I need to pee", Medha joined in inaptly.

This disruption seemed to flip some switch in the maintenance guy's head, for he instantly produced a giant flat head screwdriver from somewhere, jammed it between the door and doorframe, and basically just muscled the door open like a barbarian.  I half expected him to start beating his chest and start shrieking in triumph, but instead he returned to his meek self.  "Here you go", he said and began walking away.

"Wait...", I called, "how do we lock the door?  There's no lock button!"

"That's not possible", chorused the maintenance guy and the receptionist again.

I sensed a fourth eye-roll cut through the darkness.

11:00 PM

By this time Medha was asleep, snoring softly like a cat.  Pavana was humming Mira's preferred one-note lullaby song into her half awake ears.  The white noise machine roared in one corner of the room.  The receptionist was long gone.  The maintenance guy however was still in our room, huffing and puffing, trying to install a new doorknob with a conventional lock-set.  It hadn't taken me more than a few seconds to convince him of the absence of any kind of lock mechanism in the original doorknob, but it was taking him forever to install the new doorknob.  By the time he had finished installing the rosette and the latch bolt, I had lost all patience.  The actual knobs on both sides were yet to be installed and for some reason he was sweating and gasping for breath.  The doorknob of Room 226 was clearly taking a toll on him.  Lest the dude should collapse under the intense strain of doorknob installation, I asked him to leave it half installed as is.  The dude cautioned me saying that since the spring loaded latch was installed without the doorknob spindle engaged, it would be impossible to open the door once closed.  DO NOT close the door, he warned.  We'll manage, I said impatiently.  He left.

10:00 AM the next day

"Front desk?", I yelled frantically into the phone, "my wife is locked inside the bathroom!"