Squatting: What All The Cool Kids Are Doing

There are many titles that I’ve strived for and continue to strive for in life, as well as titles I hope to achieve one day: good daughter, excellent student, editor, best-selling author, good partner, hot chick, best friend, good mom. The list goes on.

Squatter was never on that list, but that’s exactly what I became this past weekend in, of all places, Oxford, Mississippi.

The SO and I were traveling for a film festival. He needed to lead a meeting, so he left me with the primary responsibility of checking in to the hotel. (He might call this his first mistake.)

The guy behind the desk gave me the map of the hotel and directions as to how to drive around and park in front of our room. I took the keys and was off.

When I pulled up in front of our row of rooms, I saw what I thought was the first door. There was a maid in the room, but since we were checking in before noon, long before the regular check-in time of 3:00, I assumed she wasn’t expecting our arrival.

“Do you mind if I just sit here while you finish up?” I said.

“Not a problem,” she said.

I unpacked our bags and sat down at the desk in the room. Once the housekeeper was done, I texted the SO with the room number and plopped down on the bed with my laptop and started working.

Awhile later, my phone rang, “Why aren’t you answering the door?” the SO said.

“Because you aren’t knocking,” I said.

“I’ve been knocking for five minutes,” he said.

“Hold on,” I said. “I’m going to the door.”

I went to the door, opened it and there was no SO.

Then, I looked down the corridor and saw the SO standing in front of the room next door. I turned around to look at the door to the room I was in and saw A120.

We were supposed to be in A119.

“I’m in the wrong room,” I said.

“You’re in the wrong room,” the SO said, emotionally somewhere between hang-my-head in confusion and bewilderment that this is my girlfriend and an extreme fit of laughter.

We quickly gathered up all of our things.

“Once this door locks,” he said, “remember that we can’t get back in. Make sure you get everything. Because our keys don’t go to this room.”

We made a beeline for our actual room, and I knew lots and lots of jokes were coming.

Sadly, at one point while I was in the wrong room, a hotel employee even came in, was surprised that I was there, said her sheet from management must be wrong, and it still didn’t occur to me that I might be in the wrong place.

For a good solid hour, I was a squatter, and while my part of me is embarrassed, the other part of me has to admit that getting away with even the smallest of illicit acts is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in months.

As the SO now says, who needs Priceline anymore?; I just take the rooms I want.