Dear Thing Under My Bed at the SpringHill Suites in Suburban Indianapolis,

Ciao.

It’s me, Sassy Sorentina, reporting live from suburban Indianapolis, where I am currently cosplaying as if I’m staying at The Carmichael while actually residing at a SpringHill Suites with an unidentified object living beneath my bed.

Delusion is self care.

I saw you.

Or at least I saw part of you.

And now we have a situation.

Are you dirty underwear?

A sock?

A washcloth that has given up?

A small woodland creature?

The remains of a previous Bonvoy member?

I genuinely cannot tell.

You are just far enough under the bed to conceal your identity, yet exposed enough to make sure I know you are there.

And darling, that feels intentional.

I turned on my phone flashlight.

You did not move.

Good.

But somehow that was worse.

Because now we are staring at each other.

Meanwhile, I’m trying desperately to convince myself I’m at The Carmichael. Sophisticated. Elegant. Perhaps someone is playing piano downstairs.

No.

I am in a SpringHill Suites staring beneath the bed at something that may have once belonged to a man named Randy.

I have considered retrieving you, but absolutely the fuck not. I did not spend years building a life for myself to die underneath a SpringHill Suites bed outside Indianapolis because I got curious about a mysterious piece of fabric.

This is how every horror movie starts.

Woman checks into hotel.

Woman sees mysterious object under bed.

Woman investigates.

Woman is found three days later near a complimentary waffle maker.

No, grazie.

Housekeeping can handle this.

The FBI can handle this.

The Vatican can handle this.

Sassy Sorentina will not be handling this.

Until then, I will continue cosplaying The Carmichael, sleeping fully clothed with the lights on, and pretending the unidentified object beneath me is simply an avant garde amenity.

If you are underwear, you need to leave.

If you are a monster, please understand checkout is at 11.

And if you are some horrifying artifact from a previous guest, Marriott, darling, we need to discuss what exactly “room inspected” means.

Sincerely,

Sassy Sorentina 💋

(Currently earning Bonvoy points, manifesting The Carmichael, and sharing a room with whatever the F this is…)

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