I recently had the giant pleasure of staying at the Four Seasons Manhattan. Yes, that’s right. I, the girl who is known by name by the entire staff of her local Steak ’n Shake and has actually walked away from behind-the-plate tickets at Turner Field in favor of nosebleed seats (because that’s where the real fans sit,) stayed at one of top five-star hotels in New York City.
And I cannot, for the life of me, explain to you why I did this, but the entire time I was there, I kept thinking to myself, “This must be what it’s like to be Jennifer Lawrence.”
I have no idea why that kept running through my mind. I’m not particularly obsessed with Jennifer Lawrence – I mean, I liked Hunger Games and everything, but I’ve never sought out stories about her in magazines or anything.
But, yeah. I guess I learned during my trip that my subconscious equates glamour with Jennifer Lawrence (the girl who rejects being glamorous in most interviews,) because every time I woke up in the amazing bazillion-thread count sheets, or pressed the button to open the automatic curtains, or used the bathroom mirror that was also a television screen, or changed in the walk-in closet, or watched something on the giant curved flat-screen TV, or applied makeup at the sit-down vanity, or bathed in the bathtub that’s basically a jacuzzi… I kept thinking, “So this is the everyday life of a four-time nominated Oscar winner.”
Anyway. I love New York City with every fiber of my heart and soul. And as far as I can tell, the city has only one, very crucial, flaw: No fountain Cokes. It’s a Pepsi city, folks. And as someone who drinks Coke like water (and has a discerning enough palette to tell the difference between McDonald’s Cokes, Chick-Fil-A Cokes, and the toxic sludge that comes out of Coke Freestyle machines,) I really don’t appreciate the distinct lack of Coke.
But at least some New York places offer Coke in bottles. I’m sure this is so they can charge you an extra $2, but at least it’s something. And street vendors have Coke cans, so it’s not like it’s a total disaster up there.
But, as my fellow Coca-Cola lovers know, there’s something about a delicious fountain Coke that simply can’t be beat.
After many days of rushing around the city, I came back to my luxury hotel with a craving for a fountain Coke that I couldn’t get out of my system. It had been building for a few days and I’d been asking everywhere I went if they had Coke, only to get a bottled Coke in return. Close, but not quite right.
So, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to order room service at the Four Seasons. And by room service, I of course mean “in-room dining,” which is what room service is called in luxury hotels.
Which I obviously knew, since I’m very used to a life of luxury.
I could go into the very well-stocked mini bar for a bottled Coke, but I wanted to order room service and see if they had it in the soda gun at the bar downstairs. I wanted to order room service at the Four Seasons like it wasn’t a big deal, and not even be concerned with the price. Like Jennifer Lawrence would do.
So I picked up the phone and called room service. They answered the phone and addressed me by name. They asked me how I enjoyed the show I attended the night before. I got caught up in thinking that they were treating me exactly the same way they treat all their A-list celebrity guests before I finally came back to Earth. I asked if they had fountain Coke, and they said no ma’am, but they’d be more than happy to bring me a glass bottled Coke.
Terrified that I had somehow been a diva and not wanting to give the Four Seasons staff the impression that I was an insane person who would compose a 1,500-word diatribe about Coca-Cola products, I just acted super excited and said that was perfect.
I hung up the phone and proceeded to freak out about how much to tip room service for delivering one glass bottled Coke at the Four Seasons in Manhattan. Was a few dollars too much? Too little? For that matter, how much was just one Coke? Why didn’t I check the price? Would I be insulting them by tipping them? Or would they be insulted that I wasted their time to go and fetch me one measly drink that I already had in my mini bar, like they were some kind of servants and I was an uppity jerk? What would the staff say about me when the room service person went back to the kitchen? Did they do this sort of thing for everyone, or was I being unreasonable —
Before I could let my mind really, truly pull me down into a shame spiral, the doorbell rang. Yes, you read that right. The doorbell rang. In my suite. At the Four Seasons. In Manhattan.
Did I mention I was in a suite? #luxury
Knocking is for peasants.
I opened the door, and a smiling gentleman was holding a silver tray with a white doily and an ice-cold glass bottle of Coca-Cola sitting in the center, like I’m living in a dang commercial. I smiled, thanked him, tipped him as many bills as I could find in my wallet, grabbed the Coke off the tray, and closed the door.
Y’all. I literally opened the door and grabbed a Coke off a doily, then closed the door and took a sip. Like I was friggin’ Selena Gomez or whichever beautiful famous woman is currently getting paid to pose while drinking Cokes out of glass bottles.
Then I walked to the window, pulled up a chair, and looked out at the city while drinking the fanciest Coke in Manhattan. I honestly didn’t even remember that I had wanted a fountain Coke until the next day.