Here’s what you need to understand.
We are extremely nice people.
It’s helpful to know that because, should you ever meet us, you can say, “We’ve heard extremely nice things about you. Oh, wait! That was from you.”
After which we will laugh and feel silly, and then gradually move on.
That attribution – okay, self-attribution – of being extreme nice people relates directly to the Kahala Hotel and Resort in Honolulu Hawaii burglarization of our hotel room, which I shall explain to you shortly.
Oh, heck, I’ll explain it right now. Sorry. I am still a bit wobbly from the experience, which, among other things, plays damaging havoc with my narrative timeline.
Here’s what you need to know beyond “We are extremely nice people”, the combined elements triggering seminal consequences for this unfortunate happenstance.
The collaborating factor is the following:
Closing your door at the Kahala Hotel and Resort in Honolulu Hawaii, if you just let the thing go, the door builds increasing momentum, reaching its terminal destination with an ear-shattering slam.
Since, as frequently mentioned, we are extremely nice people, when we departed our hotel room, particularly in the morning or later in the evening, in order not to spare the peace and tranquility of our neighbors, we adopted the habit of physically holding the closing door, it thereby ending its journey with an untroubling “click.”
The door is thus closed. And no one around us is disturbed.
Is that “extremely nice people”, or what?
The consequent problem – which ultimately resulted in the burglary – is that, after that signaling “click” the hotel room door is indeed thus closed.
But it is not, it turns out, totally locked.
“Totally locked” requires two “clicks.”
Moving away after one “click” means that if someone with evil intentions pushes on that seemingly “locked” but actually just “closed” door, they can slip right into your hotel room.
An easy burglarizing opportunity. Caused by a particular door-locking system and two extremely nice people, bent on not troubling their neighbors.
Reconstructing the crime, it would appear that, with the door at some point left inadvertently unlocked, the burglars surreptitiously entered our hotel room, absconding with Dr. M’s purse, containing, most significantly, her wallet and all her I.D., and my Major Dad commemorative Christmas gift shoulder bag, containing, most significantly, my wallet and all my I.D.
On the January 1st morning of the recent New Year, looking around for my Major Dad commemorative shoulder bag to take to the beach after breakfasting at the Plumeria Beach House, I suddenly realized the commemorative shoulder bag was missing. It was, however, only when Dr. M discovered that her purse was also missing that we concluded – not that a geriatrical mishap on my part had transpired but, ruling out simultaneous geriatrical mishaps as being unlikely (though not impossible) – we had instead unequivocally been robbed.
And now, a break. As opposed to a break-in. I’m just taking a break.
Tomorrow, we meet Reggie and Joseph, the Kahala Hotel and Resort in Honolulu Hawaii’s crack Security Team.
From whom we learn of the distinguishing “door clicks.”
And that we were unlikely to catch the nefarious perpetrators or have any of our missing personal items returned.
They did not literally confirm that.
But, spending substantial time in their sleuthological company,
It seemed very unlikely.
Oh, yeah. Why did I take my wallet placed in my now stolen Major Dad commemorative shoulder bag to the beach?
To give the on-site attendants transporting our beach loungers a generous reward.
Because, Lord knows, we are extremely nice people.
A laudable attribute that, in the context of this story,
insufficiently paid off.
To be continued…
And hopefully concluded, because remembering this is upsetting my stomach.