Thanks as always to Nancy for hosting this week's Writing Wednesday!  For the second time in three weeks, I'm actually on time.  Go figure.

This week's challenge:  writing a scene utilizing descriptions (snapshots), inner commentary or reflection (thoughtshots), and dialog (er, dialog.  Which for reasons I can't explain, I prefer to spell dialogue.  Technically correct, but it confuses the heck out of spell checker).  Utilize a recent conversation (or Nancy provides a skeleton to build on if you're having writer's block or are so anti-social that you can't remember your last conversation with another person).

Following Nancy's example, I'll bold the snapshots/descriptions, italicize the thoughtshots, and leave you to guess what might constitute dialogue.  Bon appetite!

This is a nicer looking place than I expected.  Renovations can do wonders for an older hotel.  A little paint here, some carpet with a confusing pattern to hide wear patterns and stains.  The lobby is efficient and tidily functional - more than I can say for the young man behind the counter working with a clutch of Asian guests.  This is going to take a while.  I wonder how my wife is doing keeping our midget communists calm in the mini-van?

Another employee appears on the scene.  She's quick, large, and in-charge, immediately starting to work with the man in front of me, and then getting me started on filling out the form with all the duplicate information that they already received from my hotels.com registration.  She's so efficient that within seconds she's simultaneously checking in three people including myself, so when the dazed and confused young man is finished with the group of Asians, he picks up my paperwork to complete the process.

"That's a five, there," he says, pointing to the five in my hotel room number.  That's pretty legible - why did he point out the obvious?

"Thanks for clarifying that."

"Your room is down the hall," he mutters, nodding down a hallway that disappears quickly out of sight.

"How far down is the room?"

"It's down that hall.  You can take the elevator."  There is no little map of the hotel building.  No diagram with a helpfully printed Lobby or You Are Here circled in bright highlighter.  No hand-drawn ink lines and arrows pointing me to our room.  So far I know that a room exists, that it's located off a hallway, and that at some point, an elevator is involved.  Not exactly rocket science, since my room begins with a two instead of a one. 

I try again.  "Well, it's kind of a big building, and I'm trying to figure out where to park soas to minimize the distance I have to carry our luggage."  Since I'm certainly too cheap to pay for a bellhop.

"You take the elevator to the second floor and turn right."

"Which elevator?"

"You unlock the door to the elevator with your room key.  Then take the elevator to the second floor."

"Which elevator?"

"The one on the ground floor.  At the juncture of the building's L shape.  In the corner."

"Ok.  I think I've got it now, thanks."  The large and in-charge woman is glancing at us out of the corner of her eye.  Sensing trouble.  Silently cursing herself for hiring a college-graduate, no doubt.  Too bad she didn't hire an English major.  Probably a philosophy major.  Poor guy.

"Do you have wi-fi service available?"

"Your room doesn't include wi-fi service.  So you'll have to register online and pay $7.99 a day if you want wi-fi access."

"How am I going to pay online if I don't have wi-fi access to begin with?"  That was pretty impressive, how smoothly and maturely and calmly I asked that question.  Practically no trace of my desire to plug this man's nostrils with any number of the Cheerios currently littering the floor of the mini-van. 

"You turn on your computer and access a T-Mobile registration screen.  You pay there."

"Ahhhh...gotcha.  Thanks."  Ok, now I feel stupid.  I should have known that.  But again, the smooth, even tone of my voice doesn't betray my recognition of how stupid my question was.  Maybe I should look for voice-over work. 

I begin to leave the well-lit lobby.  Large and in-charge pipes up encouragingly.  "Thank you sir, have a good evening!"  Not elaborate damage control, but enough effort to ensure that the last voice I hear is friendly and encouraging, instead of somewhat lethargic and/or under-the-influence-of-some-hip-sounding-medication.  We'll call it a draw.  Stupid question on my part, but directionally challenged on his part. 


Nothing particularly earth-shattering here.  Dialog has always been something that fascinates me to the point of paralysis.  Perhaps that's a good condition for me to remain in.

Thanks Nancy!