Archive All Issues June 1996

Wit Stop

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Hotel showers aren''t always what they''re cracked up to be.

Featured in the June 1996 Issue of Arizona Highways

Dave Smith, refreshing himself at the Grand Canyon's Walthenberg Creek Falls, could have told our author there's more than one way to take a shower.
Dave Smith, refreshing himself at the Grand Canyon's Walthenberg Creek Falls, could have told our author there's more than one way to take a shower.
BY: Dave Smith,James Tallon

WIT STOP There's More to a Shower than Water

Waterfalls can be therapeutic. Watching the water cascade in torrents, plummet in a natural free-fall, and be greeted with a welcoming splash by the pools waiting eagerly below. In Havasu Canyon, just downstream from Supai village, there are four glorious falls plunging over cliffs of Redwall limestone in one two-mile stretch. There's the 75-foothigh Navajo Falls, which breaks out into several widely spaced branches; Havasu Falls, which dives 100 feet into a beautiful turquoise-colored pool; Mooney Falls, which plunges 196 feet and which the Havasupai named "Mother of the Waters." Finally there is Beaver Falls, whose water cascades into inviting travertine pools before setting out on the four-mile journey to join the mighty Colorado River. It's an awe-inspiring hike for me because I love waterfalls. By extension, I think waterfalls also are why I enjoy showers. To me, travel is exhilarating, but also exhausting. When I arrive at my destination, I find a shower is not only cleansing but rejuvenating. I love showers. Unfortunately, some of the people who design shower heads don't.

Call me a traditionalist, but when I take a shower, I like to get wet. Not long ago, I arrived at a certain hotel, weary from my journey. I unpacked and began my showering ritual. First, run the water into the tub allowing time for it to turn hot. Then delicately adjust the temperature of the water. Then comes my personal piece de resistance. In one sweeping motion, like a rhythmic golf swing, I switch the water flow from the faucet to the shower head and also pull the curtain closed, making sure that the bottom folds are completely inside the tub. When I settled under this particular shower, I noticed that I wasn't getting wet. The water was running. It was flowing out of the shower head, but in some water-conserving pattern that sprayed water everywhere except on me, the presumed target of the spray. I stood there with my dry body, holding a tiny dry bar of soap, while water splashed all around me. Oh, I could get a little on my hand if I reached out a bit. If I stood on tiptoes and pushed my face against the nozzle, I could get a spritz. I couldn't get a shower, though. I tried to adjust the head, but it wasn't adjustable. Its direction was fixed, and its spray pattern was immutable. I struggled to alter the flow, arm wrestling with it to turn the shower head in a different direction. It's the first time I ever worked up a sweat while taking a shower. If you're too cold in a hotel, you can always call housekeeping for more blankets. If the pillows are not fluffy enough, you can call housekeeping and ask for extras. So I called housekeeping. "Housekeeping. Can I help you?" "Yes," I said. "This is Mr. Perret in 441. I'd like more water." "This is housekeeping. You want room service." Click. Dial tone. Finally I convinced the front desk to send up a maintenance man. He came into my room with a toolbox in one hand and a sizable monkey wrench in the other. I wore a robe. "You're not getting any water in the bathroom?" he asked. "No, I'm getting water, just none on me when I take a shower," I explained. "Which way are you facing?" "Look, I know how to take a shower. I've been taking showers all my life." "Congratulations," he said. "Come into the bathroom, and I'll show you." He hefted his trusty monkey wrench. In the bathroom, there was water everywhere on the floor, the walls, the mirror. "Looks like you've got plenty of water," he said. "Yes, but none of it comes near me." "Maybe you needed a shower worse than you thought," he joked. I hope he joked. He fumbled with this and fiddled with that, but finally said, "There's nothing I can do. That's the way this shower head works, and it's not adjustable. Sorry." "Sorry?" I shouted. "This is my one pleasure after a tough road trip, and now I get here and find . . ." "Hey, pal," he said, "take it easy. Take a nice warm bath and relax. That's what I always do." "Warm bath. That's it. Thank you." He said, "No problem," and let himself, his toolbox, and his monkey wrench out. I disrobed and began to run some water in the tub. There was no stopper. I ran to catch the maintenance man. "Hey, there's no stopper in the . . ." That's when I heard the room door click shut behind me. I would have given anything at that moment to be in Havasu Canyon watching the peaceful, inspirational falls.