Walls Have Ears

One of the benefits of the nomadic existence experienced by
long-haul aircrew is the immediate familiarity of hotel rooms. At first
sight, it would appear that all international class hotels are designed
and constructed by the same builder, using the same blueprints. The
name of the hotel is then determined apparently by putting all the
names in a hat. The Rome Hilton might just as easily be the Ramada or
the Metropole. The layout is exactly the same.

The advantages of this concept are various. One is seldom at a loss to
discover the exact location of the toilet in the middle of the night.
The telephone works in precisely the same way in whichever hotel the
airline have decided to accommodate their humble servants. Breakfast,
if it can be so described, is predictable in both quality and quantity.
Even the waiters and the reception staff appear to have been cast from
a common mould.

There is at least one major disadvantage. Economics dictate that the
walls dividing the rooms are made from paper-thin, acoustically
transparent material. Bearing in mind that aircrews frequently arise at
unsociably early hours in the morning, their sleep patterns may differ
from those enjoyed by more normal people. We may, therefore, be
inclined to retire early in the evening in order to achieve the
requisite eight hours. The activities in adjoining rooms can on
occasions cause some disturbance to sleep. Hotels accustomed to
sheltering flight crews generally attempt to allocate adjacent rooms in
order to minimise disturbance to other guests but the disturbance is
not invariably caused by the airline people, nor is it always the other
guests who suffer.

It would not be fair to comment on the moral decline experienced by
travellers but in my own experience, the libido level increases in
direct proportion to the distance from home. Consequently, there is a
natural law that indicates that a pilot attempting to settle in the
arms of Morpheus will be in a room adjoining a lady called Honey and a
man apparently called Ohmygod..Derek. The nocturnal activities of
Ohmygod..Derek and Honey will apparently centre on a rhythmic pounding
of the headboard against the wall. Whilst this will undoubtedly strike
joy into the hearts of those addicted to African drumming, it is not
conducive to restful slumber.

On one occasion, during a particularly energetic and extended session
of headboard pounding, I had given up all attempts at sleep and was
leaning on the balcony rail observing the traffic in the street below.
Ohmygod..Derek elected to take a break from his labours and emerged
from his room onto the adjoining balcony. Despite my attempts to shrink
back into the shadows, he spotted me.

"Nice evening," he remarked. I mumbled a response from which he
appeared to draw encouragement. "Just got in on this evening's flight
from London." There appeared to be no way of escape and he went on to
tell me that he had got acquainted with one of the cabin crew on his
flight and that she was even now anxiously awaiting his return to the
headboard. With a mixture of surprise and irritation, I realised that
the only flight from London that evening had been the one on which we
had arrived. The amorous flight attendant was therefore almost
certainly a member of our crew.

Having previously remarked on the identical nature of hotel rooms,
there have been occasions when crew members have suffered total memory
loss. Answering a call of nature one night, I stumbled out of bed and
opened the bathroom door. The sound of the door swinging shut behind me
brought me to wakefulness only to realise that I was standing in the
hotel corridor wearing only a wristwatch. Happily, the occupant of a
nearby room had indulged in a bottle of bubbly and his tray, complete
with napkin was on the floor outside his door. Swiftly, I girded my
loins with the napkin and set off in search of a member of the hotel
staff who, it might be hoped, would have a passkey. After a brief and
fruitless search, I elected to descend to the next floor. Happily, a
room service delivery was taking place and I explained my plight to the
waiter who smirked in a most irritating manner before offering to open
the door for me.

To my horror, I could not remember my room number. We travelled the
length of the corridor, the waiter pointing at each door with a
question framed on his grinning face. At last, I thought the number on
a door seemed familiar.

"This one," I said with as much conviction as I could muster.

"Okay senor." He inserted the card in the lock and opened the door
with a flourish. I examined the darkened interior and noted that the
bed appeared to be unoccupied. This was almost certainly the correct
room. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked the man and closed the door
behind me. I attended to the function that had initially caused the
problem then headed for bed. I almost made it. Our lead Flight
Attendant came back into the room from the balcony. After some initial
surprise, she burst into laughter.

"My word," she exclaimed, "you are a dark horse."

"I appear to be in the wrong room."

"Perhaps you are." She smiled seductively. "And then again, perhaps
you're not." She took my hand and led me meekly towards the bed. "How
on earth would you explain this to the Fleet Captain if anyone ever
found out?"

There are some questions to which there is absolutely no answer.