11-ROOM 313!

ROOM 313! I parked the bike in front of the entrance. Then I dragged my suitcase up to the door. Why, oh, why had I brought so much stuff? I crawled toward the reception desk, grumbling and groaning. There was no one in sight. I put my paw on the bell and began to ring. I rang and rang and rang FURIOUSLY for at least ten minutes. Finally, a plump mouse with thick handlebar whiskers held in place with clothespins sauntered out. He was wearing a brightly striped T-shirt and loud Bermuda shorts. He yawned into my snout and mumbled, "Well?"

"Yes, I have a reservation here," I squeaked. "My name is Stilton, Geronimo Stilton." He scratched his tail. "Ummm, let's see... here it says you are Gerattimo Stilton," he muttered. "Are you sure your name is Geronimo?" I gnashed my teeth. My whiskers began to whirl in a rage. Why would no one listen to me? Did they all have cheese in their ears? "Of course I'm sure! I ought to know my own name!" I exploded. "So please take note that my name is Geronimo, Geronimo Stilton! And that I'm fed up! That I'm exhausted! that I want to go to my room now! That I want to take a shower!

That I want to eat something! And most of all that I want to be called Geronimo! Ge-ro-ni-mo! G-e-r-o-n-i-m-o!!! He shot me a look of pity. "Whatever," he said with a yawn. "Guess it's a good thing you decided to take a vacation. You sure are one stressed-out rodent." He grabbed a key and slapped it into my paw. "You're on the third floor," he told me. "And don't look for the elevator. We don't have one. By the way, the restaurant is closed. But as our brochure says, you'll find a delicious welcoming snack on your bedside table."