¿Que hora es?

I respect anyone who manages to work nights and still have a social life on their nights off. Swapping between schedules like that is what I imagine constantly switching time zones must be like. Personally doing this once was more than enough for me but, despite my frustration, ultimately it made for a decent story.

First, some background. Madrid is in the Central European Summer time zone which is ten hours ahead of Alaska, eight ahead of Mountain time, and six ahead of my East Coast friends. Which means when I left Denver, my phone was on Mountain Time. This usually isn't an issue since phones just update as soon as they find signal in a new place. 

Except, of course, it is when you leave it in airplane mode because international fees are astronomical,  and Verizon doesn't get signal in Europe anyway,  and even if it did you have a phone that is too cheap to have compatible technology. Frustration. On my second day in Madrid I quickly solved this problem by shelling out way too much money for a Spanish phone. Or at least I thought I solved the problem.

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¿Que hora es?

Act 1 Scene 1

Scene: Basic hotel room, closed European style curtains effectively blocking out any potential light, two posh looking twin beds which are lit only by a slight blue glow of a plugged in charger next to the far bed. One bed is empty, saved for a missing roommate, and in the other is a sleeping figure hidden beneath a white comforter and seemingly draped over several pillows

. 
Despite no apparent change in the room, the figure startles awake. In the blue glow the audience can see the figure is a young woman with clear bedhead and an eye mask half off her face. She gropes blindly towards the side table, hitting a button. The screen lights up.

Carol: 6:55? Damn it! I'm late! 

The list of expletives continues quietly as she vaults out of bed and exits stage left. A shower is heard turning on and then quickly turning off again. The room is lit, and she returns again, wrapped in a towel. Clothing is tossed out of a suitcase near the bed as she searches for something. She exits stage left again, and returns in moments, dressed and ready to go. 

Carol: I guess this will do for breakfast... I hope I'm not the only one running late this morning.

Exit stage right. 

Act 1 Scene 2

Scene: Hotel lobby. A woman sits behind the counter typing on a computer, center stage. Large doors to another room sit stage left. An elevator sits stage right.

Bing! The elevator doors open and the frantic woman appears. She glances at the desk

Carol: Hola

Receptionist: Hola raises one eyebrow at the woman

Carol crosses the room and tries to open the door which presumably leads to the breakfast meet. The doors are locked.

Carol as she approaches the desk: Lo siento. Necesito... en la... yo estoy con CIEE. Desayuno?

Receptionist: Si. Then the receptionist speaks quickly for several seconds in Spanish. Neither Carol nor the audience understands. 

Carol: Lo siento. I'm late. The doors are locked. Can you let me in?

Receptionist: El desayuno es a las siete. 

Carol: Yes. Si. I know... Entiendo. I'm late... Lo siento. Puedes... let me in?

Receptionist clearly confused: Breakfast is at seven. It is tres... three.

Carol: Tres? not Siete? Three?

Receptionist: Yes... points to the clock on the wall

Carol: Oh.... But my phone... Oh....Lo siento. Exits through the elevator, red faced and shaking her head. 

Act 2 Scene 1

The Receptionist sits at a bar chatting with a group of friends. She mimes pointing at the clock. The whole group laughs. Scene fades to black.

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Moral of the story is don't look at the wrong phone while you travel. Spanish receptionists will laugh at you later when you try to eat breakfast at 7 PM mountain time... 3 AM Spanish time. 

Me in the Rafaelhoteles Atocha in Madrid, Spain.

August 9th 2016