Does an official phobia of hotel rooms exist? If so, sign me up and put me in a straightjacket. The moment my room card flashes green, I creak open the door as if I’m entering Hades. Once inside, I turn into a germaphobe and cease to function like a normal person.

I pull back the shower curtain to see what horrors await. I examine towels, wash cloths and bed linens for stains and evil hairs. I can only sit on the edge of the bed or chair. I cannot, with a clear conscious, touch anything, including those plastic drapery poles. And don’t get me started on the telephone and TV remote. When it’s bedtime, I pull back the covers as if I’m expecting to find a corpse. I look for a safe zone, lie down and dream about being bubble boy. I don’t move an inch the entire night.

People don’t like to share hotel rooms with me. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  I shouted when I discovered my husband sprawled on top of the hotel bedspread with the remote tucked under his chin.

“DON’T DRINK FROM THAT GLASS!!” I ordered my mother, who was trying to take her medication before my cousin’s wedding. 

I blame Oprah and TV newsmagazines for turning me into Howard Hughes. With their hidden cameras, black lights and lab results, they’ve showed America just how nasty our hotel rooms can be. A few years ago ABC News "Primetime" did that infamous story showing urine and semen on just about every imaginable surface, from phones and TV remotes to bed spreads, walls, ceilings, curtains and carpets. Not even the Bible was spared.

As if we weren’t creeped out enough, last year ABC News did an undercover investigation on dirty hotel glassware and coffeepots. Hidden cameras revealed glasses are rarely cleaned. One image is forever branded on my brain of a maid using a guest towel and her foot to clean the bathroom floor, then using the same towel to wipe out the coffee pot. Phobias, such as Billy Bob Thornton’s fear of antique furniture, are supposed to be unreasonable. But I need look no further than the coffee pot lady to justify my dysfunction.

Since my travels for work and pleasure are now forever tarnished, I tracked down Julie Cohen, a former Dateline NBC producer. A few years ago Dateline did an investigation on bedbugs in luxury hotels. Did I happen to see that one, Julie asked? Oh yes, the image of glamorous-dark-haired-lady-with-red-bites-on-body is stored in my long-term memory right next to coffee-pot-maid-lady-from-hell. 
Julie lives in Brooklyn, NY and runs her own production company, www.betterthanfiction.tv. Interestingly, one of her latest projects is webisodes of military homecomings, which can be viewed at www.lifetimetv.com. No bedbugs in those segments, she noted, just lots of babies.

Other than freaking out viewers, I wanted to know what news programs hope to accomplish by showing us glow-in-the-dark semen and bugs scurrying under mattresses.  

Julie noted such investigations bring awareness and can keep industry on its toes.
“It’s a mixed bag,” she said. “We’re making people paranoid. On the other hand, we’re educating people.” 

True. Awareness of what’s lurking on my hotel pillow is so empowering I lose hours of sleep thinking about it.
 
Of course, the real reason I contacted Julie was to pitch a story idea on the effects such stories have on viewers. I suggested she put hidden cameras in the rooms of unsuspecting guests.

Me: “Once when I forgot my slippers, I walked around in my SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas and stilettos, and used a tissue to turn off the light switch. Would that make for must-see TV?” 

Julie gave my query careful consideration. “Yes, people might want to watch that,” she said. “But unless you’re a child molester or terrorist, NBC would never put a hidden camera in someone’s hotel room.” 

Next, it was Julie’s chance to put me on the spot.

Julie: “Did it occur to you all the little pieces of yourself you’re leaving behind might be worse than what’s already there?”

Me: “Ouch. Duly noted.”  
Since Julie has a master’s degree from Yale Law School, I stood no chance in debating molecular cell turnover. I moved on to my next question.

Me: “I was going to ask you about my hotel issues, but I don’t think there’s any hope for me. Unless I travel everywhere in a Winnebago.”

Julie: “I’m sure we could find some hidden dangers inside an RV.”

With four national Emmy nominations, a slew of prestigious journalism awards and several Ivy League degrees under her belt, I forged forward with my important questions for Julie.

Me: “How do you deal with nasty hotel hairs?”  

Julie: “It’s just a little hair. As long as it’s not biting me or going into my digestive track, I’m fine.”

She shared her insights on other yucky topics as well.

On bed bugs: “There’s no indication they spread disease,” Julie said. “It’s just that it’s creepy.”

On sleeping on a stranger’s three-day old hotel sheets: “These things don’t have the psychological problem on me, as it has on you,” she said. “As long as I don’t have to eat it, I’m okay.”

On what she’s learned about airplane ice and sliced lemons in restaurants: “I will never get ice on an airplane again, and I never get sliced lemon in a drink at a restaurant,” she said. “It’s a bacteria thing.”

Thanks to Julie, I now have even more things to worry about.

As a frequent traveler, I know my hang up is a perpetual problem. My options (scratch the Winnebago idea), I can stay at home for the rest of my life, pitch a pup tent, or do what I do now, which is act like my hotel room is a gas station toilet.

After staying in three hotels over the past two weeks, I need a vacation. On second thought, that means I’d have to stay in a hotel. No thanks. 
Maybe I just need a gin and tonic. But hold the lime.