Somewhere in the middle of 2010 I found myself in a boutique hotel in San Francisco - the sort with ample and varied free toiletries that are clearly provided for a class of human preoccupied with tasks I’ve never considered - shampoo and conditioner of course, but also bath salts, shoe shine kits, and shower caps. Surely I’ve shampooed regularly and even soaked in excess salt following long hours of birth support, but I’ve only ever used a shower cap to cover the smoke alarm in the Airstream when cooking, as it is three feet from the stovetop and quick to sound, even if all you’re heating is water. The perpetual anthropologist in me wondered at whether the folks who stayed in hotels such as these were frantic work travelers whose feet logged 20,000 steps a day, scuffed shoes to prove it, requiring salt soaks upon check in. Or perhaps I most folks staying here were waiting on news or phone calls and needed ideas of how to pass the time while confined to their rooms. Showering with dry hair? Leisurely soaks? Even at the check in desk with keys in my hand, I wondered when I would be the sort of person to stay in a hotel like this.
Who are these people, I thought, not considering myself a legitimate lodger.
This same line of thinking returned this week, as I joined a virtual call I’ve worked half a life time to qualify for. The other six callers were differently qualified and while I did not rank them amongst one another, I clearly slotted myself last. Naturally, I was asked to invite myself first, which is the folly of the enneagram three.
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