Many hotels have in-room safes for the convenience of those of us
traveling with the Hope diamond, or, more likely, our laptops and PDAs.
You don't need to be Jane Bond to operate these safes - you just punch
in a code and shut the door.
The tricky thing is that in order to open it, you have to retrieve the
code from a brain that is hopelessly crowded with travel-oriented
minutiae. Standing in front of the safe, you'll first recall a litany
of relatively useless information: you parked in row 11-D of the "blue"
lot; breakfast is served between 7 a.m. and 9 a.m.; and Jimmy O'Leary
and the Shamrocks will be playing in the Starlight Lounge.
Curiously, the safe's code will be top-of-mind only at the end of your
trip, when you are taking your third lap around the economy lot in the
parking shuttle bus searching for your car.
So, I always choose a simple, memorable code for my in-room safe, so
obvious that anyone with zero imagination could crack it. Go ahead,
take a guess. Bingo - you've got it, on the first try!
What is the point, you ask? I have to agree; it's rather like hiding
your laptop under a doormat. Still, I am confident that at least I will
always be able to open the safe.
Recently, I was in San Francisco, which is still, despite the advances
of modern air travel, really far away. The pilot gave us all a little
pep-talk trivia fact; in the early days of air travel, our flight would
have taken 23 hours. Wow! Today, thanks to 9/11, you can leave your
home in Baltimore at 6 a.m. and drive to Dulles Airport three hours
early for your flight, wait to go through security, find that your
flight has been delayed, eventually board, deplane 5 1/2 hours later,
wait for your luggage and secure ground transportation to San Francisco
- and still be in your hotel room in roughly half the time.
Upon arriving in San Francisco, I secured my laptop in my in-room safe
before I left for the day to re-enact Rice-A-Roni television ads,
leaning out various trolley cars, snapping photos and smiling in a
touristy fashion.
When I returned to my hotel, I attempted to open the in-room safe. It
remained locked. I tried a few obscure codes, including the long-term
parking lot location, the breakfast times and the number of band
members in the Shamrocks, but my laptop remained obstinately secure.
I acted decisively by immediately going out to dinner with my daughter.
This is my classic Scarlett O'Hara response in times of great stress: I
simply imagine myself in a ball gown saying "Ahl just worrah about that
tomorrah." After all, my laptop was obviously locked up tight.
When we returned from dinner, my daughter tried to open the safe. She
reviewed the directions, asking if I had heard the "beep" that
indicated the code was reset before shutting the safe.
Oops.
Many of you have probably wondered, just what is the sequence of events
after discovering that you will never be able to open your in-room safe?
First, you feel the SAT-word chagrined: a sense of vexation accompanied
by humiliation. While you are certain that others have probably locked
items in hotel safes and been unable to retrieve them, you are pretty
sure that these are people like Ozzy Osbourne, someone with whom you do
not habitually identify.
Next, you must expose your inanity to the front desk. Trust me, you'll
feel like the woman who has fallen and can't get up in the classic
medical alert system commercial.
Happily, hotel staff members have dealt with this situation before, and
they will send someone up right away. The fact is, when you pry up the
"logo" on the safe, there is, wonder of wonders, a standard keyhole!
I've learned my lesson. From now on, I'm leaving my laptop under the mattress.
Contact Janet at janet@janetgilbertonline.com
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