The Hobo Package
When someone else plans your vacation, but you are just happy to be getting out of the house, it is hard to imagine it will be anything other than a fun and much needed get-away. Then we arrive at this place.
Norman and his mother would both be proud of the aesthetics of this motel. 'Excuse me sir, but I am pretty sure I requested the Hobo Package and suite, not the Serial Killer executive'. The doors are facing outward. There are no pass keys to access the hallway. Your door facing the parking lot is your best protection from the people who happen to be sharing this building with you.
The phone rings. Who could it be at this hour? It is the front desk clerk. He is suddenly adamant that he get a $50 cash security deposit, and he will not leave us alone until he gets it. It is more than a little shady. He insists it is just company policy and it will be returned to us in the morning.
"The TV doesn't even work, " Judy said. "What could we possibly hurt in this room? There is no hair dryer. There is no shampoo! There is no trash can in the bathroom. There's not even anything we could steal, not that we would want anything in here. Look, even the remote control is nasty!" Judy exclaims loud enough for the front desk clerk to hear her over the phone. Undeterred, he insists we pay the $50. So reluctantly, we do. We are both too mentally drained to argue with him.
"That's okay. By the looks of this place, it is probably just prepaid porn channels anyway," I was trying to lighten the mood but was also uncomfortably serious. "When I imagine getting murdered in my sleep, I had always hoped it would be in a nicer place than this".
Our precious amenity is one tiny dry bar of unscented soap to share between us. There is a mini fridge, but it doesn't count because it is dirty and rusted. If it weren't so late we would leave, but we are in an unfamiliar place.
"There is no trash can in the bathroom!" I call to my friend. "...and weirdly, the toilet is a push button flush model; that's a little fancy. I feel those funds could have been better allocated elsewhere".
There are no vending machines or ice. The beds have two comforters each and they are both sheet-like in thickness.
I looked at my worn out friend and said, "I am so thirsty, but for some reason I suspect the tap water will smell like farts". She fills a paper cup to test my theory. Surprisingly, it did not, and thank goodness because that tepid tap is all we have to drink. In a delirium type state, we begin to laugh to keep from crying.
It is already 1:30 am and we have an early schedule. It has been an exhaustive and grueling day fighting airport traffic, car rentals, shuttle services, hauling luggage, along with multiple interactions with the TSA in two different airports. I would like a shower, and I need one, but after looking at the bathtub, I am pretty sure I would be dirtier post-shower than I am right now.
We both collapse and try not to think about the amenities or lack thereof, or how bad our feet and backs hurt. We just wanted sleep. Every day is a new day, and surely tomorrow in the light of day, this place won't seem so bad.
Under the sunrise of morning I work diligently to make it appear as if my overnight stay had left me feeling refreshed. As I put on my makeup, the Piece de Resistance is revealed: a dried booger, stuck to the mirror I was looking in as I get ready. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better.