It's Fun To Stay At the YWCA

Let me describe the YWCA. It has a huge lobby, a nice piano, a sitting room for activities, wireless internet, breakfast provided in a mediocre cafeteria, and an elevator. It also has weird, morphed and gooey paint on the bathroom stalls (I touched it and never want to again), no private showers or toilets, toilet paper for paper towels, no soap, no one to mingle with, a five-block walk through rougher town from the nearest T station, and no plug with three prongs in the room.

Last night, I discovered that if I plugged my computer into the wall outside my room and dragged the cord in through the door, it would charge just fine.

This morning I jumped out of bed at 7:30 because of a loud buzzing noise. I couldn't figure out where it had come from and thought it must be the fire alarm that was hanging a bit precariously from the ceiling (dead batteries?) A few moments later, an insistent knock came at the door and a lady told me that I couldn't plug in outside the door. I apologized and just said, "Yeah, I thought that would be okay since there's no three-prong outlet in my room." Not only did she respond, "No, it's NOT okay," but she very ceremoniously (no fair) yanked my plug out and put it in my hands.

Yikes, okay. I won't plug it in. I'm not looking forward to using the public showers, even if there is a curtain.