Hanging With Newton

I’ve had a weird thought that has been nagging me to no-end lately.  It isn’t a clear thought, like for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Rather, the thought is always a little hazy, like it needs a cup of single-serve coffee.  I can’t pin-point it, but it is something like for every bad deed committed by a young kid hopped up on Mountain Dew and Chewy Gobbstoppers, there is an unequally painful and drawn out period of payback period that commences upon his or her adulthood.   

You want pillow?
I’m not sure how old I was, probably around Junior High School age.  I was at a hotel, somewhere.  I was hopped up on sour candy.  I was with some sort of team.  We jumped on elevators, pressed the buttons to every floor, and threw ice at each other as we ran around the halls.  We giggled until people opened their doors and our faces turned red.  And then I did the unimaginable.  Okay, it wasn’t that bad.  But I still feel bad about it.


I pulled off a “Do Not Disturb” sign from some poor guest’s room and turned it around so it said “Please, Make up Room.”  I can’t be sure if I even got a chuckle from the kids that I was obviously trying to impress.  I was no rebel.  I sat in bed and waited out the sugar high, and all I felt was guilt.    

Worst of all, I am certain that I am paying for it now.

For the life of me, I can never remember to put the darn hang-tag out on the hotel room door before I go to sleep.  I often wake up to “housekeeping,” and it simply drives me nuts.  But deep down inside, when I try to clear my throat and yell that awkward and universally recognizable “no thank you,” I know that I am paying interest on a debt that will never pay dividends (really, you need to clean the room at 7:00 am but your guests can’t check in until 2:00 pm?).
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