Naked Wrestling With The Cleaning Maid.

On my final morning in Mexico, I woke up surrounded and shrouded with the fear of God in me. What had happened last night, that little Canuck again! Usually, no matter how many Cosmopolitans I have had, ha, when I get in from a night out, I always manage to take off my clothes and fold them away, not sure why but always seem to do it. However, on my final morning, I woke up fully clothed, half on the bed, runners still on, the hotel phone ringing next to me in my ear. I did the quick check. Phone. Wallet. Passport. IPod. Laptop. Camera. Clothes. Runners. Hair. They were all still there. Something was wrong though, the fear was here.

The phone kept buzzing away, so I answered, and realized I could barely talk. “Senor, its almost 11, you have to leave.” I grunt out the information that my flight wasn’t until way later that day, couldn’t I stay in bed until the afternoon? “Yes Senor, you can stay if you like – Sound, nice one! – but it will cost you an extra $25 per hour after 11.” Balls. Up I get, head for the shower. En route I notice my credit card on the ground. Thats obviously a good sign. Here comes the fear some more.

The shower in my hotel is horrendous. Either that, or the Mexicans have thought of a great way to save water. My shower decreases in pressure, the hotter you try to make it. So I have been either having freezing showers, with the shower spitting water out at me. Or if I want a hot one , really only luke warm max, the shower barely drools out a few drops at a time onto my head. Either way you’re not using much water, so I’ll give the Mexicans the benefit of the doubt and applaud their eco-friendly invention. Nothing to do with the hotel actually being crap, nothing at all.

While waiting for about the fifth drop to drool out of the shower and onto my head, after being in the shower a few minutes at least, I remembered that I tried to pay the cab with my credit card, like an ape. I had no cash, so gave the cab man my credit card. I then also remembered there was no credit card machine in the cab itself, but he took it anyways, and held onto it for a good while. It got a bit hazy then, but I presume he took the digits down, probably bought himself some nice stuff online, and gave it back to me. Hopefully there was still only $24 left on it for him to splurge with.

So I get out of the shower, still no better after such a horrendous excuse of a shower. I’m completely goosed, hungover to funk, getting spins, need to sit down on the toilet before I fall over, towel over my head, trying to fully remember what had happened the night before. The bathroom door is fully open, Subway incident left me scarred. I half zone out of it, thinking I hear a noise, but take no notice, too hungover. I look up from under the towel, and see the cleaning lady has come into my room, the noise was her knocking.

She’s just standing there, looking at me. I’m just sitting there, naked, hunched over on the toilet, towel over my head. If I had my wits about me, and if she had been hot and younger than 40, I would’ve invited her in for a cup of tea. She was neither and I had no wits whatsoever anyways. I’m too hungover, tired and lazy to speak properly. My words are too slow coming out of my head so I sound like a caveman, grunting and ughing at her. I’m still with the towel over my head, too dumb and hungover to cop on she can see me in my birthday suit. I stand up, walk towards her, cop on, through the towel around my waist, it falls off, I almost slip on the floor, it’s just great.

By this stage you think she might have been apologetic, embarrassed, intrigued, disgusted, what with me being naked, hungover and acting so dumb and all. Instead she tells me “You need to leave, I must clean, now!” I’m thinking, still too hungover to actually say out loud… I need to leave?! You just walked in on me, in the kip, in my hotel room, and now, you tell me that I need to leave! (I was emphasizing left, right and centre in my head). Instead of saying any of that, all I can manage is an “Ugh, two minutes”.

She responds by pushing and shoving me back in towards my bed and suitcase. Towel is pushed off, my front is covered but she’s getting full view of my tan lines from behind. She wants me out, now! Im thinking will I give her a half Nelson, or body slam her. We’re facing each other, in a deadlock, my brain wondering what the funk is going on! Who will make the next move. Probably me, to pick my towel up off the ground and cover myself. Instead she barks out that she’ll ever so kindly give me five minutes to dry, dress, pack and be gone. How kind, such a good hotel I was staying in. It was a great start to the day, really great. At least it took my mind off the fear for a while I suppose.

I’d like to say my day was fine from there on in, nothing else really happened, but… let’s just say I might as well worn body paint instead of shorts on the flight home, a lot has been explained at least! First, here’s the great song that had me zoned out on the toilet… Magic Position by Patrick Wolf

Here are a few photos of my hotel as well, at least the place looks class.

Tags: Fear, Magic Position, Mexico, Patrick Wolf