We can all get over Acoustic Guitar Guy playing Jack Johnson in the corner.
We intrinsically know that the older dude from Montreal is going to fart in his sleep. And we accept that the front desk lady is going to lie about not having quarters, even though she has seven left in the drawer.
However, there are things that can be done to make a hostel more tolerable.
I’ve nearly fainted while standing in an overheated kitchen, waiting for a place to cook Ramen Surprise. One man’s opinion: There’s just no need to make Coq Au Vin on a Bunsen Burner.
If you’re a backpacking gourmet, plan ahead and do whatever you can to make it speedier than Rachel Ray on trucker speed.
And please, stop scoffing at my meal while you’re braising your venison. Those bedbug’s track marks are inches from your spatula, just like the rest of ours.
Let’s get this straight: No matter how hard you try, a year’s supply of socks cannot be repackaged into a cubic centimeter.
Especially at the crack of dawn, when everyone is trying to catch some shuteye. Accept it: Your peas are going to touch your mashed potatoes. It’s 4am and we’re trying to sleep. Just cut the crap.
Sure the lobby computer is a gigantic piece of shit but it’s OUR gigantic piece of shit, filled with viruses, spyware and a cookie history that’s often criminal. This is not the time to install Worlds Of Warcraft or write an essay about Bungy Jump At Nevis.
Get on the computer, do your thing and get off. And please people, remember – Facebook is not the internet. It’s Facebook.
Straight Up. You could just as easily take your lazy ass to a hammock and listen to Ben Harper there. This room is sacred – be cognizant of the fact that not everyone wants to marathon the Lethal Weapon films while you drink tallboys and intermittently fall asleep.
Surely there’s a Friends marathon going on at a nearby cafe, where you can wrap yourself in your sarong and order Pad Thai without shrimp.
There’s a finite amount of soaping that one man can do in fifty minutes. We know what’s going on in there.
While we appreciate you not having seizures on the bunk above us, we also have to step into the shower after you and would appreciate some tidying up first. Use your brains, man.
It happens to everyone – laundry piles up. Employing The Pepsi Challenge on your socks is a good sign that you’re skunking the room.
Just because you Fabreeze your bra doesn’t meant that it will not smell like the jungle trek you’ve just left. A simple “hey does anyone else need to do laundry?” will usually find at least one other partner to help with funds and suds. Look at that – you’ve made another smelly friend.
Dear Sir. Why did you leave home? Don’t you get bored looking at the walls and repeatedly telling the story of your night dive on the Great Barrier Reef? How many times can you unpack and pack?
May I just have one moment alone here to collect my thoughts? You’ve been sitting indianstyle on your bunk for two days, reading The Davinci Code. There’s a whole other world out there, sir. Please?
Best Regards, Tom
Oh, you two. We saw your snog session at the bar next door go from PG13 to NC17 in about four beers and two shots. We all know that you’re going to sneak into each other’s bunks in fifteen minutes.
As suggested in a recent article here, why to take it to a dark corner instead? There is no Invisibility Cloak for sex. You’re going to make The Noise and we’re all going to mock that noise for the rest of the week.
They’re hostel workers, one click up the food chain from the guy who slits a cow’s throat before it is butchered.
We all know that they are going to spend their salary on weed and never make that trip to Nepal.
But still, they pick up our Twix wrappers and, well, worse. Even a pity bagel can make this person’s week. Pay it forward.
Any tips we missed? Share your thoughts in the comments!