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Ironic Humor, Hotel Style



You know those days when you think you’re a big deal? I had one last week. It was a brief moment, really. I lapsed into a little “job title pride.” I’m an administrative assistant. Everyone’s jealous of my job. I have it so great. My life is awesome. Then I went on a business trip to man the merchandise table at a conference my boss was speaking at. And that’s when all my daydreams were dashed to the ground.

You see, this conference was held at a Hilton. I’d never been inside one until last Friday. I walked in, and immediately had to fight the urge to turn around and go find the nearest J.Crew to buy a more appropriate outfit. I felt so out of place! To me, a “nice hotel” has always been classified as one that doesn’t have mold on the walls. A “nice hotel” was one that actually has semi-sound proof walls and a working air-conditioning unit. Those are a far cry from what I walked into this weekend:

Lesson learned from this weekend: I’m not a big deal. Or really well-off. (Although I am lucky to have a job in the first place.) Luxury just took on a whole new meaning. I’m not exactly making it a goal in life to stay in a Hilton. But I’m not saying it wouldn’t be nice either.

 



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