The tournament the college team I'm coaching was heading to this weekend moved from Stanford to Modesto, pretty much at the last minute. I had arranged to drive some of the team to Stanford on Saturday morning, but had my Friday night planned for cleaning the house before George and his family arrived tomorrow.
So much for that plan. They'll arrive to see my house is its usual disarray. Darn it.
I drove to Santa Clara and was slightly late, arriving at 8:55 instead of 8:45. I should have realized this wasn't a problem: the team was on ultimate time. We left the Frisbee house, where many of the men's team players live, around 9:20, arriving at the hotel around 10:50 at night. Now, normally arriving so late isn't an issue, afterall, we practice until 11 at night. Today, though, I was tired from the 6:00 am wakeup and 7:00 am workout.
My car, with Sarah, Julie, Mackenzie and Kaitlin, arrived to find we were in the remote room, a double smoking-permitted room. I had asked at hte front desk when we arrived if any rooms were availalbe, and was told the only room they had was a single bed smoking. Since I was going to be in a smoking room anyway, with the stench of previous smoking tennants, I figured my own bed would be preferable to the floor.
Maybe I should have just kicked one of the players out of bed.
When I went to see about that previoiusly available smoking room, I mentioned I'd prefer a non-smoking room if anyone had cancelled. Somehow, I managed to arrive five minutes after someone had cancelled. $52 dollars later, and I had a room with three extra bed spaces. I went to where I thought the men's team was staying and knocked on the door.
The door flew open, and a waggling tongue, "ahhhhHhhh!" greeted me. When the eyes on the face owning the tongue opened, the player immediately stood up, looking a little embarrassed, "Oh, sorry."
"No problem. Anyone in here want a bedspace? I'm two doors down. The only requirement is that you need to let me sleep."
Fifteen minutes later, the room was asleep.