Happy at the Hyatt

There is nothing new about taking a vacation and checking into a hotel to place your belongings on the bed then heading for the bar.

Except when it is a holiday.

Say “New Years Eve” and there is no place to go. Your friends and family are busy, there are no parties in the neighborhood and no one has invited you to any local gathering, so where do you go to celebrate the welcoming of the New Year?

All the local taverns are having special night events, but when the bar closes you have to get a cab or a ride home in the cold night air.

For what is the best place to go to for the “New Years” celebration full of drinking and laughter and watching the ball drop then wander off to the bedroom - without staying at home?

A hotel.

They are all open on New Year’s Eve because hotels are 24/7 operations and they all have fully stocked bars.

So I reserve a room and pack a light bag only be staying one night, lock up the house and walk to the building with more bedrooms than Windsor Castle. After the cordial welcome at the desk and the required paperwork, I get your plastic card and wander to the elevator to take me to my one day home.

Placing my now worldly goods in the closet, I flip on the television that has the same shows as home, touch ever piece of furniture in the room, turn through the desk numbers for room service and check the drawer for the bible. Going to the window, I stare at the parking lot below seeing other travelers coming and going.

So as the time grows closer, I shower and shave and dress as if I am going to impress another with no one in mind. For the first time in two years, I wear a collared shirt and a sports coat. Closing the door and reversing my steps I drop to the lobby then turn to the noise coming from a dark hidden space.

The hotel restaurant.

The room full of table clothes tables and several groups and couples enjoying the beginning of a long evening. I’m seated in a corner and handed a menu while being asked if I would like some refreshment. Knowing that I will order a steak, I order a bottle of red wine. A couple of minutes later, the waiter brings me the wine list. Not being a expert on wine, I point out an Cabernet Sauvignon and the list is torn from my hands as he rushes off. After a few more minutes of unfolding the napkin and arranging the silver wear the waiter returns with a basket of rolls and ask if I am ready to order. He starts to tell me of the nightly specials when I interrupt his spiel with a request for a steak and a baked potato. “You get two sides” he replies then impatiently waits as I open the minute again. “French style green beans” and the menu leaves me alone again. I entertain myself tearing open the butter and spreading it on the cold bread. As I take a large bite, the wine arrives with a taste poured into a glass. Blowing chunks of bread, I sniff the glass, swirl it around and take a sip. I nod approval since I cannot speak with a mouthful and the bottle is left on the table. The wine is very bold and heavy, to heavy for bread so I try to get the attention of one of the passing waiters to request a glass of water with no success. The first glass is emptied and I pour another before the steak arrives. A huge plate of meat covered in mushrooms and some sort of gravy with a open potato along side. A small bowl of green beans and I finally get a chance to order my water. As I butter my potato realizing it is not very hot, I do not see a steak knife. I will need something sharper than this butter knife to attack this half of cow. When my water arrives in a spotted glass, I ask for a steak knife. Now I seem to be ticking off the waiter who turns quickly back to the kitchen. I finish putting the other little pat of butter on the potato and have a sample of the beans. They are somewhat warm and very stringy. A wooden serrated knife still steaming was a washing is placed on the table and I begin savoring my New Years meal. Cutting into the steak, it is a little more done than the usual medium rare I’m accustomed to and the potato is hard, almost raw.

I sat for some time, just sipping the wine and observing the surroundings because this was more food than I normally have in a week. Finishing off the bottle I waited for the check or some attention. Finally the waiter in passing notices I have pushed the half finished plate to the other side of the table and stops. “Will there be anything else, sir?” I sign the check with my room number and notice he was going to get 15% tip whether he earned it or not.

Now I was on to my intended destination.

The hotel bar.

Waiting at the door I observe where I would start the New Year. Several couples are sitting at small tables around tiny candles. They are lean toward each other in quick conversation and smiles under the dim of chatter filling the air. At one long table a half dozen people wave their arms and move glasses back and forth with loud shouts and uproarious laughter.

The few hotel staff in black skirts and white shirts bustle back and forth between the tables removing empty glasses and nodding to new orders without smiles. This is how they will celebrate the coming of a new year.

Instead of moving to another lonely table, the bar stool looks more inviting.

Scanning the variety of sizes, shapes, and colors of bottles against a reflective glass, I start to become wrapped up in the atmosphere. One of the hotel wait staff puts down her tray, walks behind the bar to me. “What will you have?” she asks with a dowered face.

I do not see any taps so I don’t ask what is on draft. Since she already seems frustrated with me, I point to a bottle of Bass ale and reply, “It’s only one night.” She looked confused then turns to acknowledge my direction before reaching into a metal bin under a sliding door and pulls a similar bottle out of a bucket of ice, shakes it off, pops the top on a metal opener, pulls a paper napkin and places the dripping bottle on it. “Do you want a glass?” she asks. I look directly into her eyes pulling the bottle toward me saying, “No, I want a smile.” She again stares at me blankly with a little attitude as if she had heard that line a million times, then moves back to the corner of the bar.

Taking the first gulp, I swivel around and notice the big screen television on the wall is already showing Times Square with the sound down or at least being drowned by the room, as it grows nosier with every delivery. Looking left down the padded bar there are two men jotting some things down on a piece of paper oblivious to the rest of the world. They were probably just transient workers who do not stop even on a holiday. To my right is a woman lost in her olive rolling it around her martini. Her hair has been pampered and she is dressed to the nines. Probably awaiting her date or husband or whatever to meet her here to move onto a big night.

Trying to avert my eyes and not stare, I turn back to the big TV watching the scripted events for the holiday and wonder why the masses of people want to stand in the cold blowing horns and wearing funny hats for hours just to say they were there.

As the night goes on, the room thins as several couples and the loud group leaves. Perhaps they are going to their rooms in the hotel or leaving after this brief rendezvous.

The hotel staff slows their pace standing together at the end of the bar, talking and giggling and occasionally wandering back behind swinging doors to what must be the kitchen.

On one of my bathroom breaks, I pass a conference room full of people and tables and chairs and balloons and streamers and a three-piece band playing to a few dancing couples wearing paper hats. A sign next to the door says “New Years at the Hyatt - $10 per couple.”

On my return I notice the young lady still sitting at the bar and wonder why?

“Ready for another” the bartender, says wakening me from the dull hum of the television. I turn and notice my glass is empty and agree with a nod. She repeats her dance and places the dripping bottle on the stained napkin. “Could I have another napkin and a smile?” I ask trying to be witty. She pulls a new 3” x 3” napkin from a stack by the cash register, removes the old soggy napkin dropping it into a pale next to her foot, slamming the bottle back down and stomping off to the corner to tell her staff mates the story of the rude customer. Sometimes trying to be humorous doesn’t work. Reaching across the bar, I grab a hand full of napkins and stack them next to me while burning with the stares in the corner. I wipe off the bottle and toss the balled up wad onto the floor, maybe entering the tub. I wrap another napkin, now appearing as dollar bills, around my bottle and turn back to the quieting room and the flashing celebration on the wall.

I noticed the woman at the bar was still sitting spinning her martini with little attention from anyone else. After a couple of minutes of looking then looking away then looking again, I turn to the hotel staff mumbling in the darken corner and wave my hand.

They all look at each other and with some annoyance; one puts down her glass and slowly comes up to the bar. “I’d like to buy that woman a drink.” I motion to the stranger sitting two seats away. “What do you want to buy her?” she asked in a graveled voice. “Whatever she wants.” I reply with a Cheshire cat smile.

With some distain she wanders down the bar to the woman pointing to me and to her glass. The woman looks up slowly then with a confused posture turns her face to me. I’ve already turned back to the television but cannot resist capturing the scene out of the corner of my eye. I hear the bartender huffing back to the bar and mixing the shaker.

As she takes the glass and removes the old placing it into a stainless steel sink, I turn and say, “Thank you.” Which catches her off guard. “Can I buy you…” then looking into the dark corner, “and your friends anything?” She stops, looking surprised and stammers, “No, ah, we are not supposed to drink on work.” Then she shyly smiles.

“There it is.” I smile back.

She glides back to her white shirted associates in the corner and they start laughing.

It is getting closer to midnight so someone turns up the sound on the television. Two or three comments are made by the announcer trying to speak over the crowd, then a commercial blares in.

“Thank you.” I hear from the side. The nice looking lady walked up to me with drink in hand and taps her glass on my bottle. “Happy New Year.”

A long pause was broken by a smile and then an odd statement was blurted, “I just thought you might like….” I could finish my thought because I didn’t know what my thought was.

She looked at the stool next to me and asked if she could sit there knowing it was not occupied.

She sat on the stool next to me and we started small talk. Names, drinks, and a fluffy explanation on why we were sitting at a bar in a hotel on New Years Eve were discussed as if they were factual. She told me she had to be in Baltimore Tuesday but her car broke down and was across the street being repaired. As we talked I wondered why she was so dressed up but then again I was pretty dressed up for the night. The group in the corner watched our actions like a soap opera and giggled.

Now the bartender smiles as she interrupts our conversation presenting another round without request. We have become the entertainment for the room.

The kitchen door opened and a man in a tuxedo stuck his head out and motioned to the girls in the corner. They quickly followed him back into the kitchen then in a steady stream started delivering bottles of champagne to all the participants of the bar. A bottle was delivered to the two of us sitting on stools with two glasses with the Hyatt logo etched on it. It was almost midnight.

We all stared at the television and counted the minutes off in unison. 10….9….8…. and then “Happy New Year!” was shouted with smiles and clinking of glasses. For a brief moment everyone in the room seemed totally happy.

Sharon, I believe her name was, and I looked at each other. Leaning toward each other we shared saliva without a doctors exam. It was just the moment.

Now everyone was excited and new orders scurried the staff. Another bottle of champagne was delivered and the waitress said since we were on separate tickets, we each gets a bottle. We all laughed and I ordered one last bottle of ale and indicated that the lady and my tickets be combined.

Some more brief statements becoming less meaningful or informative and more attention to the television, I placed the final bottle down, signed the tab and bid adieu to my companion, stumbling toward the elevator.

Finding my blurred way to my room, I peel of the jacket and the shirt now soaked with sweat and slap on some sweats. I turn on the television out of habit, close the curtains and unfold the covers on the bed. Thinking I might see some news after a night of senseless entertainment, I stack the pillows and get comfortable with the remote. Then a knock on the door.

I didn’t even look through the peephole, just swung open the door.

“Sara?” (Maybe it was Sharon? Or Karen?) “How did you find me?”

She held up the etched glass and said, “You forgot your glass.” Then she held up the other bottle of champagne and said, “and I needed someone to share this with.”

Being a man of scruples and a bit of discretion, I will leave the rest of this to your imagination.

A warm sunny first day of the year made the walk home agreeable and found a bottle of wine left on my doorstep by a friend. Nice surprise.

Unpacking and putting things away I found her business card and phone number. I threw it away because it was just what it was and will be that smile no one else will know.

Having a happy at the Hyatt.

PS – Forgot the two glasses. Don’t need any more memories.