My roomies from Blissdom are so out of my league. They signed up to do a half marathon on Sunday when all I wanted to do was get about 12 hours of consecutive sleep. So when they all tiptoed out in running shoes Sunday morning, I snuggled down into the bed and snoozed till 9:30. I got up slowly, considered showering, then Lindsey texted me and said she and Lisa were going to breakfast. Did I want to go?

As good as taking it easy and packing sounded, a warm breakfast sounded even better. Lindsey and Lisa were almost ready so I put it into high gear, throwing on some clothes and rocking my day three hair with some teasing and hair spray. I glanced down into my bag and saw my room key, grabbed my phone, my big girl camera.

Before leaving, I snapped one last picture of the myself and the room, because that’s what bloggers do.

We went to downtown Grapevine to the cutest little pastry shop. We had a nice breakfast and good talk, but I kept rummaging through my purse from time to time trying to lay my hands on my room key. I remembered clearly seeing it in the inside pocket, but now it was mysteriously missing.

The missing key did not keep me from enjoying my time. We even took a couple of pictures before we left.

At the end of breakfast they dropped me back at the hotel, I took one last iPhone shot, because that’s what bloggers do and I went inside the Gaylord Texan wondering if I would be able to get into my room or not.

I searched my bag one last time and the key had not magically appeared. I still had at least an hour to wait before my marathon roomies returned. Discouraged, I walked up to a desk and asked, “What do you do if you have misplaced your key?”
“Kick the door in,” he automatically replied and we laughed. Then he asked for my picture ID so he could look me up. One problem, the room was not in my name. According to David, a very helpful employee who spent two weeks every summer vacationing at Beaver Lake in Arkansas, a fact which connected us instantly, is that not listing all the people in the room is a something many people overlook. If you’re name’s not on the room, no one believes it’s your room.

It completely makes sense. I apologized and thanked him for his help. I would wait in the lobby for my friends.

But being the nice, helpful Gaylord employee he is, David made a call to his boss to see if there was something more that could be done. She told me the same thing. The fact that they didn’t trust me was both reassuring and disconcerting. What if i was some con artist using my sweet southern charm to get into a room and make off with all the goods?

Then Abby texted me and said she would call and talk to someone and tell them it was her room and to let me in. Ah, again, problem. No picture ID of Abby. Just a voice on a phone who could be an accessory to my wicked plan.

But David would not quit. He called security who agreed to let me identify some things in the room and then let me in. But I could top that, remember that picture I took before I left the room. Sadly it was underexposed because of my rush to meet my friends, but it was proof I had been in the room.

The serious looking security guy who lacked David’s sense of humor and Arkansas connection, escorted me up to my room. We were quiet in the elevator and he did not volunteer where he spent his childhood vacations. When we reached the door he opened the room and I brought up the picture I had taken. This set off an internal alarm for him, “Why did you take a picture?” he demanded.

“Because I’m a blogger,” I replied as if that explained everything.

He stared at me uncertainly and I tried to make a joke, “Well, earlier when I kicked in the door, I took a picture so I could fool you about this being my room.”

Remember the part about him having no sense of humor? I suppose that’s important in security work.

He let me in, but he definitely had misgivings. I guess the fact that he didn’t see open chests of gold and jewels on the beds made him feel a little more secure. An electric blanket and a hairdryer didn’t seem like the coup he was expecting.

I quickly packed up my things with a surge of adrenaline and shaky hands that let me know a I wasn’t cut out to be a con artist or a thief. As I got ready to go, I did a pocket check out of habit, and there it was, the key, hanging out in my back pocket all along.

If only security had done a pat down search all this could have been avoided.