Father's Day Special

Locked Out!
Helsingborg, Sweden, 1989

It was the late 1980’s. I was a young child back then and always wondered why international flights always arrived and departed at such Godforsaken times. I couldn’t understand the difference in time zones, particularly since there were just so many time zones to keep track of. You see my father was traveling more than 200 days every year back then. Whenever we sat around a dinner table and started ticking countries and cities off a world map, there was hardly anywhere he hadn’t been to, well, perhaps Antarctica if at all. To illustrate my point, I’m putting here, a picture of his passport (honestly the thickest one I’ve ever seen).

Of course it would have been lovely to have him more often at home like other children had their fathers but his traveling that much did ensure that he always came home and entertained us with the most fascinating, sometimes outrageous stories about his travels. Today on the occasion of Father’s Day, I’m going to share one such story with you. It’s always been one of my favourites.

So my dad used to travel quite regularly to Denmark and South Sweden on business. He was a consultant to a Swedish company called Perstorp AB and he always stayed at the Metropol Hotel in Helsingborg which is a pretty coastal city in Southern Sweden, just across the Øresund Strait from Denmark. He’d travel by ferry and hovercraft straight by the side of Copenhagen airport.

So anyway, he was on one such trip and a major contract was to be signed between the Perstorp AB and an Indian chemical company. The management of the Indian company was also present and the Swedes were hosting a big dinner party. Heavy entertainment was in full swing and Brännvin, which is a sort of Swedish liquor that most commonly includes Vodka, was flowing like there was no tomorrow. My dad of course, as the consultant was trying to keep everyone in good temper and it wasn’t surprising that he was exhausted and desperate to hit the sack by the time he managed to get back to the Metropol at 2 am. The hotel elevators were the grand, old ones with the wooden walls and ornate doors but they were painfully slow in those days and my father was almost asleep when he finally made it to his room on the 2nd floor. The keys were also heavy and ornate, none of the fancy magnetic ones we see these days. Anyway, he got to his room, stripped down to his undergarments and too tired to put on his night suit, crawled into bed, sure that not even an earthquake would awaken him that night. Nature’s call however is so much more persistent that an earthquake. So he got up 2 hours later and the next thing he knew was that he was locked outside his hotel room, with the key inside. People who travel as much as he did, do sometimes develop a sleepwalking habit but that’s a well-guarded family secret.

Anyway, back to that night. So there he was, locked out, standing in the dimly lit corridor, in nothing but his underwear. And mortifying though the whole situation was, the first thing on his mind was still that he had to urgently find a bathroom. Thankfully, the conference rooms (with bathrooms!!) were also located on the same floor so that issue was taken care of. In fact, because he’s basically a smart guy with strong survival instinct (most travellers are), he also managed to find a table cloth which he wrapped (securely!!) around himself before taking the elevator down to the lobby. Needless to say that he was completely wide awake by then! However he still wasn’t feeling brave enough to get out of the elevator so he stuck his head out and spoke to the lady at the reception in an understandably sheepish whisper.

‘Ma’am, I seem to have locked myself out of my room. I am so sorry but I’m not in a position to come out and pick up the duplicate key from you. Could you please hand it to me? I’m so very sorry.’ Admittedly, the young lady did look horror stricken for a minute but she recovered quickly (after all resilience, customer service and crisis management are all skills that are taught in the hospitality industry). Even so, as she handed over the duplicate key to him, she couldn’t help glancing up at his head (still poking out from the elevator) and asking in a concerned voice, ‘Are you sure you’re all right Sir?’
My father, too mortified to answer, squeaked a thanks, took the key and rode back to his room in the painfully slow elevator. Finally in the safe confines of his room, he shut the door, put on his pajamas and swore never to get into bed without his night clothes safely on. Of course, he did make it back to thank the receptionist in the morning, dressed crisply in a pin-striped suit, no less. Not surprisingly, she couldn’t believe it was the same man from the previous night but she accepted his thanks quite graciously, given the circumstances. The Swedes are nice people, actually.

Of course, this was a story she must have related at many a dinner party that in the hotel business you do meet all kinds of strange people. As for us, it’s been a favourite story ever since he narrated it to us all those years ago! After all, as they say, travelling leaves you speechless and then turns you into a master storyteller!