Hotel living can be trying when done in long stretches; and over the last three months, I've done my share of it.
It's not that I'm crazy about making my own bed--it's not that at all! I just always feel like I'm being watched and graded. What kind of underwear does he have in his suitcase? What kind of books does he read? Is he this big a slob at home?
I have to tidy up my room and fold my towels before I leave just so the maid doesn't think I'm a piglet.
My mother used to make the bed before we left hotel rooms for the day--little did she know, that's the worst thing you can do to a maid.
Unless your twin brother C is visiting you, and when he leaves the room to let you take a nap, flips the "Please Make Up" sign on the door.
Me, lying on top of the duvet in my underpants, mouth hanging open, dead asleep 32 minutes after playing host to my family in an Edmonton room.
I was startled awake by the feeling that someone was in my room, watching me sleep.
I was right. Some poor middle-aged maid was gaping at me, eyes like saucers--neither of us had expected to find the other, and certainly not in this condition.
Then later slid a note under my door asking if I would kindly leave a note outside my door telling her when it was okay to come back. I didn't realise how uncomfortable the situation was until I left later that day to shoot some scenes for Decoys:Rebirth, and noticed that the tag on the door had invited the poor maid to her fate.
M- "Yeah. The guy in room 1208 is a total pervert. He was even waiting on the bed for me! In his underpants!! Pretending to sleep!!!"