Imagine you stayed in a medium-priced hotel, somewhere financially-conservative people between 40-70 stay. The grandmas do their hair before leaving their room. It’s almost 09:00 and you decide to go downstairs and see just how shitty the free breakfast is. Now wave at me—that’s where I am. Cheap-ass tablecloths and all. I am eating yogurt and muesli, listening to the radio, trying to come up with a joke to express how disgusting I find Adele’s music…until suddenly I find myself bobbing my head. Now I’m embarrassed and probably blushing though I’m the only one in the room. There’s a sign (framed piece of computer paper) on the walls between each floor that has a traffic light on it. The traffic light somehow signifies the calm, normal and rush hour of the hotel’s breakfast lounge. It is rush hour and I…