Thursday, June 30, 2011
My Alarm Clock Was A Hotel Strike
Years ago, I was traveling to Los Angeles with the creative arts program that I was a part of in high school. I was very excited about this trip. We received an opportunity to perform for a school in Los Angeles, and it was a wonderful way to experience how life was down there in Hollywood. Another thing that was exciting about the trip was that we were going to meet the writers of the crime drama Numbers. That was the icing on the cake. Getting the chance to meet actual screenwriters. Writing is my first love. It has been my first love since the day I was in diapers. I considered it another great learning experience.
We finally arrived in LA, and checked into our hotel. The second we arrived there my mentor dropped a Los Angeles bombshell. We arrived in Los Angeles around the start of the Writer's Guild of America strike. Most people would never forget that strike. Due to that, the writers from Numbers wasn't going to be with us. However, we forged ahead. I completely understood from a writer's perspective what that strike meant to them.
On the very first night, right after a big dinner from this Italian restaurant, I found out I was rooming with Fred, one of the other members of the program. In the beginning, I had no problem with it. That all changed five hours later when it was time to go to bed. Now I realized why everyone was begging me to be his roommate. The reason why is because he snores heavily.
It was hard for me to go to sleep during the first two hours. His snoring sounded like seven people were in the middle of having sex at the same time. Four pillows and two comforters weren't enough to get the snoring away from my ears. I was finally able to go to sleep a few minute after midnight.
Little did I know it was about to get worse.
Once I was getting ready to finish another great dream, it was suddenly interrupted by some loud noises coming from outside the hotel. In the beginning, I ignored the noises and tried going back to sleep. An hour had passed and the noises didn't go away. I was instantly irritated by what was going on outside. I looked out the window and there was a crazy strike being held outside. In the beginning, I thought the writer's strike came to the hotel. Two seconds later, I found out it was the hotel employees from taking a second look at their uniform.
A few hours later, the owner of the hotel gave us all a wonderful breakfast when we went downstairs to the lobby. It was the hotel's form of apology. While I was eating pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs, I just considered it very unusual. While the writer's strike was still going on, a hotel strike suddenly occurs during my first night in Los Angeles.
Talk about ironic.