Friday, May 16: I had allotted five minutes for riding to the third floor, collecting my suitcase, and boarding the bus. Clutching the remnants of my breakfast, I stared at the elevator numbers. Why weren’t they glowing? Why wasn’t I moving?
At our five-star hotel’s breakfast buffet, I had eaten fresh apricots, Brie on bread, smoked salmon, and five pieces of Turkish delight. The apricots baffled one of my classmates. “How do you eat it?” “It’s just like a peach,” I reassured her. She replied, “I’ve never eaten a peach before.”
Just as I was wondering whether I should go solicit that classmate for help, the elevator swung into motion. When the doors cracked open to reveal a young man with luggage in tow, I skipped out past him. Halfway down the hall, I paused.
This was the wrong floor. Read the rest of this entry