Room 17

With the recent fall of darkness that has replaced Seattle's near absent summer, seasonal affective disorder has severely set in. Therefore, the only place I can seemingly find solace is in the warm cradle of Desert Sun's super high pressure tanning beds. I can already see half of your frowns of disapproval...get over it. I need a modicum level of faux, man-made happiness! As I begrudgingly paid $175 for the unlimited facade of sunlight, I was directed to room 17 for my first dose of nirvana. Curving through the hallways lined with room after room of purple-hued light beaming from underneath their doors, I found my mark. Now I'd always walked past this specific room while traversing Queen Anne Ave's boutiques, nail shops and restaurants; each time wondering if said room was just for show as you could see directly into it. I don't know about you but I'm a somewhat private and naked person when I tan, so imagine my consternation when I actually walked into it.
I attempted to recall if any recent walkby's reflected (no pun intended) interrogation room-like shading, you know...those one-way mirrors where you can see out but no one can see in; or is it the other way around? Anyway, after several minutes of headscratching and internally debating whether I should just start undressing and throw caution to the wind, I discovered a sign by the window instructing me to lower the screen. WHAT screen?! WHERE?! Spending yet another few minutes (cognizant of the fact that my session was timed to start within 4 minutes of entrance), I frantically mimed for a mechanism to secure my privacy. And then...cue unearthing shudder, I get a knock on the window from a pedestrian on the street, a highly attractive young guy mind you...with smile in tow pointing right past me at the button that said "LOWER SCREEN". Good. Lord. How embarrassing!

I suppose I would have been worse off if I'd shown everyone at the top of the hill the goods I've even avoided getting to know up close and personally. Seriously though, imagine THAT show! Dependent on who was watching, it would've been some freak streetside spectacle and/or I would've been arrested for public indecency. At any rate, I eventually finished basking in the safe confines of room 17's glow, sans extreme mortification. I want to thank the hot, kind stranger whose random act of kindness prevented my becoming Queen Anne's first nudist.

Happy Saturday folks, thanks for reading.