So after a long day tiring from the amount of stuff going on more than anything else I got back to the hotel room and thought how very wise it was to take an extra night here, as I would not want to spend the nineteen hours I'd need driving back after all that work. I figured I would go in, wash up, change to looser clothes, maybe have something cold to drink or even something to eat, and then see about going in to Washington, as there was a Metro station not a mile away. And I could send the necessary e-mails out since surely the Internet would be fixed by now.
I slipped my card into the door lock and ... nothing happened. I gave it another try. No good. I was locked out.
I trudged back to the front desk and explained the circumstances; they looked through their documentation and found the record for my room and the confusion about who was reserving it and who was paying for it but they were glad to re-enable my key card. They did want to know whether I wanted the same room, though, and I thought it wise to keep the same room. So we got that straightened out.
What had not yet been straightened out was the hotel's Internet, which was still in that phase where one tries to log in and gets an endless spinny wheel of spinning until the connection dies and it gives up. Ultimately I gave up. My mails out could wait for the evening anyway. Fortunately I'd earlier looked at a map of the area to find the route to the Metro station, and as it was just about one mile, I figured I could easily walk that distance and that would make up for the WiiFit exercise I would ordinarily do but didn't have the WiiFit for. Although ... well, you know how it is: the first time walking any unfamiliar path feels farther than it might objectively be, and I worried steadily that I was missing the turns I needed, even though the directions amounted to ``turn right, then turn right, then turn right, then turn right'' (sadly, this could not be condensed in any appreciably way). Still, after about fifteen minutes or so of not particularly strenuous walking, there it was, the Metro. I bought a one-day pass and aimed myself for the Smithsonian.
Trivia: Nan Britton's The President's Daughter, published in June 1927, and written by the alleged mistress of Warren G Harding, had its proceeds donated to Elizabeth Ann Guild, allegedly Britton's and Harding's child. Close to 100,000 copies of the book were sold. Source: 1927: High Tide of the 1920s, Gerald Leinwand.
Currently Reading: The City Machine, Louis Trimble.