Thank God for Karma

Honestly, I thought to myself, sighing, it’s amazing you have a job…like someone actually pays you for your time.

This is what happened: The wheels touched down at DCA at 4 p.m. I grabbed my carry-on and speed-walked to the Metro station right outside. I marveled at the convenience—two different metro lines that went to the airport—both of which took me to one of the two hotels I tended to frequent in DC without switching trains. The DC Metro was convenient and cheap.

This trip, I was staying at the Hampton, not the Hilton. Hotel rooms are super expensive here in the spring, and I try to shop around for the best price. I had to remind myself which hotel because it meant taking the yellow-line train rather than the blue line.

I hopped off in Chinatown and dragged my bag the three blocks to the hotel. I didn’t mind. First, I love walking through the city, and second, it was a beautiful afternoon to be outside.

I entered the hotel through the double doors, and queued behind a lady at the counter who was being helped. This is when my day took a turn for the worse. It was taking so long to help this woman, I grew impatient. I checked in online while standing there. The Hilton app said it would notify me when my room was ready. I looked at my watch. It was 4:45 p.m. What the fuck? I thought to myself. Rooms are supposed to be ready by 3. This is bullshit. I’m a gold member!

But I still wanted a physical key, so I continued to wait. Finally, she finished with the woman in front and I stepped to the counter.

Hi, I said. I checked in online, but I’d like a physical key.

What’s your room number?

908, I said.

There’s no room 908, she answered back. In fact, no rooms in this building end in 08, so that can’t be. Could it be…

This is where hangry and inconvenienced merged.

That’s just what I read, I said through thin, tight lips. So, I don’t know. How about checking by my name?

Then she said…wait for it…

Are you sure you’re staying at this Hampton?

I looked at my app, but I already knew. I was staying at the other Hampton. I had stayed there once before, but I liked it the least of all the hotels. I’m sure I chose it for the price.

Now I was double hangry. I had counted on checking in and going straight to Karma, my favorite little Indian joint, around the corner for dinner. My plans foiled, I decided I would go there anyway, with bags in tow, because there wasn’t much to choose from around the other Hampton that didn’t require a bit of a walk. I thanked the girl and headed out, but Karma wasn’t open yet when I got there. I pretended to study the menu outside the front door until they unlocked it ten minutes later. I walked straight to the bar and dropped my bags.

Karma was one of our old haunts when Russ and I lived in D.C. Being there at 5 p.m. on a Tuesday, I had the place to myself. I enjoyed a nice glass of rose with a bowl of spicy peanuts while waiting for my chicken tikka. I thought about how much Russ and I supported Karma during the pandemic. There were three local businesses we decided to make sure and support through the shutdown.

We had loved Karma already, before the pandemic, but really loved them after witnessing the owner supporting first responders at the hospital with free hot meals he loaded in his car and transported there himself. Businesses were really suffering, barely surviving, but Karma extended a hand even then.

I texted Russ from the bar. I said, “I’m really proud of the support we gave [Karma] during COVID. We did good. Place is still thriving.” The restaurant might have been empty early on a Tuesday night, but I knew they had expanded to two other locations. That wouldn’t have happened if they weren’t being successful. Did Russ and I contribute to that? Probably not, but it didn’t matter. It felt good to know we did what we could, investing in our community, sometimes tipping staff a 100% during a very uncertain period in all of our lives.

After dinner, I called an Uber to take me to the correct Hampton. I was knackered from the long day, but finally satiated. My fiasco was a good indicator that I still struggle with adulting, but somehow I was still employed, despite my deficiencies, and maybe I could rest assured recounting times when I behaved like a good human-being. After a tiresome day, it was enough.