woes me

It is never good when you get back to your hotel, jump on the elevator, and then realize you have absolutely no idea what floor (much less, what room) you are on...

You are left with no other choice but to go up to the front desk and admit your travel dementia...

Then, to make matters worse, you have to restrain from doing the pee-pee dance (as if that wouldn't be torture enough) all they way up to the 7th floor, all the while making small-talk with the strange man who is riding in the elevator with you.

I am in room 758 in case I forget again.