Wealth

The anticipation was so palpable I was near sweating from it alone. Add to that the humidity and 15kg backpack on my shoulders and I was hard-pressed not to reach up and wipe the beads from my brow. My heart beat faster with each ‘ting’ of the glass elevator announcing we had bypassed yet another floor of the hotel. Looking down onto the foyer, I could barely make out the smooth mahogany of the check-in desk, where the concierge had issued those magical words. ‘Free upgrade, sir?’

*Ting*

Another floor whizzed by, I nervously adjusted the strap of my backpack. The bell-hop had offered to carry it for me, but unaccustomed as I was to such luxury, I sheepishly declined and carried the burden myself, my tense sweaty frame a stark contrast to the other guests, casually mingling and flowing like silk around the sleek marble steps of the foyer.

*TING*

The doors opened wide and I drew in a deep breath as I stepped out onto the plush carpet. Under the weight of my backpack, I could feel my body sink a little deeper into the rug than most, leaving a trace outline of my flip-flops behind me, leading anyone who followed down my path to Room 3113, the palindrome etched in shiny brass letters upon the darkly vanished door.

With a clink of metal, the bell-hop unlocked the door and ushered me into my new home, if only for one night. The door peeled back and I got my first glimpse of a 5-star hotel room and it just seemed so … ordinary. Make no mistake, it was nice. Everything was prim and proper and nothing was out of place, even the room service menus and TV remote control instructions were neatly stacked together on a polished silver tray. The scent of fresh flowers hung in the air, emanating from the two vases on the lockers either side of the bed. A large wooden bureau stood formally in the corner, hinting that not all who stayed in these rooms were here to unwind. Yet nothing of this room spoke of richness and extravagance that TV and movies had led me to believe about 5–star hotels and the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

I laid my backpack down by the end of the bed, careful to avoid touching the pristine white sheets with my sweaty human limbs. As the bell-hop busied himself with the air conditioner remote, I checked out the bathroom. Again, it was immaculately clean with a sturdy tinted glass surrounding shower, to add more privacy to the already exclusive room. The marble tiled floor led up to a flat golden shower head, designed to create a waterfall-like cascade. Usually on my travels, upon my inspection of rooms, I would test to see if the hot water was working, but not here. Here, to even question such a thing seemed like an insult to its grandeur.

When the bell-hop finally won his war of wits with the air-conditioning, he coolly left, leaving me none the wiser if he was expecting a tip or not. As he scampered back to the elevator, I watched some of the other guests ambling around. An old man in a bright yellow shirt lovingly holding the door open for his wife. A large, round man, who was seemingly straining to fit into his swimming trunks, when in reality it was the humidity he was suffering from. Such was the true freedom of the super wealthy. Not the extravagance of private jets, tailored suits and infinity pools. No, but to wear loose clothes, sleep in a comfortable bed and not having to worry about appearance, tips or hot showers. And I could have that too, with the right attitude. At that moment in time, I felt extremely wealthy.

This story is based upon a true encounter I had in a five star hotel in Singapore. My friend was working there at the time and had got me a staff discount. Even with the discount, I could only afford to spend one night there, my birthday, and spent the remainder of my trip in a hostel in the cheaper part of the city.

I really was imagining something special, especially when I was told of the free upgrade. However, it was somewhat underwhelming. The room was nice, but not much better than some hotel rooms I've stayed in before. Clean, comfortable bed. A nice shower. It was certainly nice, but it was not the lavishness I was anticipating.

I know the idea of this exercise was to write about extravagance and excess and to be as descriptive as possible, but I felt this was a story I should tell and personally I feel that writing about the mundane is far more difficult for me than hyperbolic descriptions and rich metaphors of the extraordinary. I also didn't want to add to the cliched stereotype of  the rich lifestyle that had fed my imaginings to begin with.

The fancy elevator up to my room

The bed and shower room

A view of the desk and balcony