Superficial Rant about a Towel

The other afternoon I found myself in one of those mortifying situations - you know the type, where you desperately want to extricate yourself from the situation immediately but doing so prematurely would actually make an even larger spectacle of yourself. Mine was of the 'spoilt tourist/sissy girl' variety.

It started out innocently enough. After a hard morning trying to cram myself into tailor-made clothes that didn't fit, I retired to the hotel pool for some R&R. While I was busy blathering on in my journal, my trusty quick-dry towel blew off the back of my lounger and into the very dirty rice paddies below the hotel deck. The deck is about 12 ft above the rice paddy fields, so there was no obvious way to rescue my towel. Now I know, you're thinking, 'it's a freaking towel, get over it', but having travelled with this towel for the last 4 and a half months, I assure you, it is a gem. I bought it in the bargain bin at the Europe Bound store in Toronto and it is a pale pink colour that is offensive to me, but it's a quick dry towel that's almost full-size, and that, my friends, makes it one of my prized possessions. Other travellers I've come across over the last few months have actually expressed a bit of jealousy over my towel, so my attachment to it is justified.

Anyway, after an inquiry with the girl at the reception desk I was supplied with a duster with an extremely long handle to attempt to fish the towel out of the water. While I was able to reach it when I layed down flat on the ground and stretched, the towel at this point was so water-logged that I couldn't get a grip on it. The girl from reception assured me that help was coming, so I sat back down on my lounger and attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible. By this point the Australian lesbian couple who were enjoying beers at a table nearby were chuckling at me and suggested that perhaps I should consider the towel my gift to the nation of Vietnam. I laughed along with them but still hadn't given up on a potential rescue. My 'help' quickly emerged from the hotel - a small middle-aged lady from the cleaning staff who was prepared to lauch herself off the patio and shimmy down a cement pole to rescue my towel, if I'd just help with the launch. Absolutely horrified that she was prepared to do what I was not to retrieve my towel, I communicated as succinctly as possible that the towel wasn't worth it, we would leave it there, and not to worry. She just kept smiling and saying 'you no worry, no problem'. I was horrified. While I wasn't about to shimmy down a cement pole in my bikini, there was no way I wanted her to think that I expected her to do exactly that. (But not in a bikini, obviously.) The Australian couple piped up that maybe I should go after it myself. A part of me felt like I needed to prove to them I wasn't the large sissy girl I appeared to be, but heck, I was that sissy girl, no doubt about it. Thankfully the cleaning lady seemed to understand what I was saying, but still hovered disturbingly close to the edge of the patio. A couple minutes later one of the young boys on staff came out, quickly scrambled down the pole like he could do it in his sleep, and 2 minutes later my very dirty towel had been returned to me.

Feeling ridiculous and highly appreciative of the efforts they'd gone to, I awkwardly attempted to tip both the boy and the cleaning lady. The lady, having felt she'd actually not contributed to the rescue of the towel as she hadn't launched herself off the patio, took a bit of convincing. But I persisted, passed along the tip with a big 'thank-you' and attempted to beat it out of there as quickly as possible. I dropped the now filthy towel off at reception for laundry service, and retreated to my room feeling highly ridiculous.

So imagine my annoyance early this morning when I found out that the hotel laundry service had lost 3 items of clothing - a gaudy but flattering blouse I bought in India, a trusty pair of quick-dry underwear, and yes, the cursed towel. I kicked up a bit of stink - I've had laundry done all over Asia for the last four months and haven't yet lost a thing. (Which I do realize is a small miracle.) The girl at reception, having assured me that they'd checked numerous times, communicated that 'no one would steal your underwear, they can't use them'. I replied that yes, I didn't suspect deliberate theft. I didn't bother getting into the jist of the problem. Every pair of underwear is vital when you're backpacking - so losing a pair that isn't granny style (25% of my undies) or falling apart (another 25% of my undies) is a complete tragedy. As I paid my bill she attempted to smooth things over - discounting my laundry bill a whole $1.60. Given I'd tipped $2.50 for the rescue of the towel, this did little to calm me, but getting into a long conversation would have probably contributed even more to my reputation around the hotel as 'stupid spoiled girl obsessed with her towel' , so I dropped it.

A part of me realizes that this whole incident is highly superficial. And I do feel like a spoiled tourist expecting others to go to such lengths to help me. Clearly I was meant to leave a part of me behind for Vietnam to enjoy. I just wish it didn't have to be my prized quick-dry towel and undies. I'll get over it though, drinking seems to help.