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Am I a Karen? A saga: Last night sat on the balcony at midnight getting some air before bed (it’s the inner city of Dublin so the air smells like kebabs which is actually quite fantastic). I hear loud music and look up to the Stay City hotel directly across the lane 1/
There was a blonde lady in the brightly lit hotel room, windows and curtains open. She was giving what can only be described as an energetic handjob. (Is there a nicer way to say this, I could not find one). 2/
I’m now a bit stuck. I’d like to go inside but I’ll have to turn on the light and open a creaky door. Then they’ll know I was there and I do not want to embarrass this seemingly very athletic woman.
I sneak off like the Grinch who stole Christmas anyway because I feel weird and creepy. Im pretty sure Catholicsm says even if you accidently witness a strangers ‘hand celebration’ it’s still a sin and all your fault. But then 4/
I get back into the bedroom and loud top 40s chart music comes blasting into the window. I open the curtains and now the couple is engaging in full contact horizontal folk dancing AND blasting autoned rnb. Fuck 5/
I can cope with the public riding but not with Jason Derulo being played at a volume which prevents sleep. I call the manager (first Karen move). He doesn’t answer. I go across the road. Boyfriend lumpy offers to come with me and is delighted I say ‘no’
He hates conflict and will only get in the way of me summoning my god given powers of pissed off Australianess. We have been woken up by hotel guests playing loud music at least once a week for the past month. Paying exhobritant inner city rent to be woken up by music you hate
Is no craic. I barrel across the little lane to the hotel. The night manager eyes me warily probably thinking he’s not paid enough to deal with a tired and deranged woman in a borrowed GAA hoodie.
I try to summon that ‘polite but someone still extremely rude” tone that exclusively rich white women have. I fail and meekly explain what’s going on. He comes outside and hears the noise. He’s very sweet about it. I also gently suggest he tell them to close their curtains.
We both feel awkward. We don’t want to embarrass them but what if someone films them and puts them on the internet. He decides to tell them to close the curtain for ‘sound issues’. Good to his word by that time I’m back upstairs the music stops and it all goes dark.
But I still can’t sleep with the knowledge that maybe I’ve ruined someone’s rnb and genital rubbing party with my demands that they keep it down. Have I turned into a Karen? Or was I well within my rights as a renter in a city overpopulated with hotels?
