There are four kinds of people who visit the Sawgrass Marriot–those who use luggage racks, those who use the bed, those who use the floor, and those who don’t use luggage.
Those who use luggage racks are the hardest to make out. They usually use only one bed and have no personal items out except for a closed laptop and an electric razor. These are the closed books–they cannot be read.
Those who use the bed are the busy business men. They have stacks of resumes, printouts of e-mails, and conference agendas strewn about. the unused bed is piled with luggage, pre-worn clothing, and business items. Several electronic device rechargers are still plugged into the sockets. The devices are with the owner.
Those who use the floor are the families who are splurging on this vacation. They sleep in both beds, sometimes with people even sharing beds. These are the people who are most likely to bring pillows from home. The dressers and desk are stacked with fresh fruit and cereal bars for breakfast, chips and pop for snack, and probably a package of Oreos. These people use No-AD sunscreen and wear drug-store flip-flops.
The final group of people are those who have no luggage. These are the stay-overs–those who live at the hotel for weeks at a time. Their clothes are neatly folded in the drawers or hung in the closets. They don’t leave personal items around the room, but the bathroom contains a large selection of shaving creams, hair supplies, lotions, and jewelry. These people use their ice buckets for wine and order shrimp or oysters from room service as appetizers.
Then there are the few that fit into none of these categories–these are the truly spectacular people. Like in one room I cleaned today. Both beds were used and an inflatable mattress was on the floor for yet another person. A small black suitcase sat neatly on the luggage rack with a neatly folded black bag beneath it. There was a neatly packed clear storage box of family videos underneath the desk. And on the desk? A collection of Usborne and Dorling Kindersley children’s books. A few pieces of paper with a young scrawl across them. A chair held a child’s blanket folded nicely and a couple of well-loved teddy bears. And on the nightstand, a note, written in newly learned cursive. “Dear, Maid Thank you for cleaning” (Here I turned the note over.) “our room” The note was accompanied by a tip, that for the time we had to spend cleaning their room was rather significant. That family, even though I never once saw them, made my day. Yes, these are the truly spectacular people.