Life in my new apartment is like a hotel stay. My daily life has never included an elevator on the way in or out of my building unless I was staying at a hotel. I use an RFID key fob to reach my floor and there is an Amazon locker for packages that scans barcodes from emails in my phone. My first day home, I accepted a grocery delivery for the first time in my life. There is a lap pool, a small gym, a staff. I am the country mouse in a city house.
It is all strange to me and I am a stranger to all of it. I came here knowing only one person, so everyone I meet here is a stranger. My hotelish existence is full of First World problems. Outside, across the street, are Third World problems. Here and there I find stickers, grafitti, and signage calling for Second World problems that can supposedly resolve the other two crises. Welcome to my personal Hotel California. I can check out any time I like, but I can already tell that I will prefer not to leave the building.
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