When I get up in the morning, here in the Dorint hotel, and I go down to have breakfast (Which, by the way, is served to us performers in a separate back room away from the "real" people staying at the hotel, so we don't infect them with our crazy variety act ways), magic hotel pixies come to my room and move everything around.
First things first, I know that they're not real pixies, but poorly-paid German people, but I choose to think of them as pixies as a fun way of dehumanising people in the service industry.
So while I'm downstairs having grilled tomato sandwiches and telling Roy Lee stories to my fellow performers, there is a pixie in my room. The pixie's job, as I understand it, is to make my bed (i.e. fold the duvet into a roll and put it lengthways on my bed, so I have to unroll it to actually use it), replace used towels (thank you), and move all my stuff to slightly different places. Here's the thing: I don't wish to demean these pixies, but I imagine that changing towels and rolling up duvets isn't particularly rewarding work, so it is my proposition that they focus all of their creative energy into the moving things around part.
They key is this: Don't move everything, and don't move the things too far from their original position, but find a place to move them to that will always (always!) make me either puzzled, amused or annoyed.
Also, it's all about grouping. Moving things into groups of objects that don't go together.
Examples, you say? Be my pleasure.
The pixie moved all the things around my sink (cleanser, moisturiser, deodorant, eye gel, toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving gel) all to one tightly formed group to the right of the sink. Seriously, the pixie grouped them as close as they could be. Then, to the left of the sink, on the whole other side, all on their own, is my tub of body shop coconut body butter, and, laid carefully on top of it, facing directly upwards, my razor. I know it's not a big deal, I'm not saying it is, but it's something, and I don't know what.
Still in the bathroom, the pixie took my nail clipper which was on the little shelf to the far left of the sink by my washbag, and put it on the edge of the bath with my exfoliant scrub and shower gel. Wouldn't this scare you a little? IT SCARES ME.
Then into the main room. The pixie has taken my pyjama pants that were on the bed, carefuly folded them up and put them in the little cupboard under the fridge.
My desk has been tidied up and all the laptop cables and similar stuff have been kinda pushed up one end, and at the other end? My bottle of water and my shorts. Together.
I can only assume that a lot of thought has gone into the placing of all of these items. I can't believe for the life of me that any of this happened randomly. The pixies must compete to see who can make the inhabitant of their room, when they return, spend a few wierd-ass minutes going "Where's my..I put it here but...WHAT'S IT DOING OVER THERE?"
I think there must be a blog or perhaps a password-protected pixie-only website where all the pixies upload before and after pictures of their best work, in a fight club-esque way of slowly corrupting the mainstream of..um..where things go.