The Smell Of Motel Hell

Posted by admin - 13/01/14 at 01:01 am

Travelling to Cincinnati today, I knew I wasn’t going to make it all in one trip, so I decided I’d just pull over and grab a cheap motel, sleep a few hours, and get back out there.

As usual, I started looking for a place to pull over and eat, and also find a motel about six hours before I actually did it. For some reason, I am never able to just pull the damn car over and eat. I’ve always got to keep going, keep pushing it, on to the next town where there will definitely be something better waiting on me. That gambit is successful about 0.02% of the time, the rest of my attempts end with me ordering something from a drive-through at a joint where the lobby is closed, or getting something that’s semi-preserved at a gas station.

On this particular night, I ate royally. Burger King. I did get to try their new “Satis-Fries,” though, which weren’t that bad. They’re certainly not as “Terri-Frying” as their old fries, which are quite balls nasty.

Anyway, after eating my usual bag of crap, I saw a sign for a Days Inn, with room rates less than forty dollars.

I should explain first. I’m not exactly a dainty traveller. I don’t give a crap about amenities, or cable TV, or extra furniture, or anything else. If I could rent a hammock and sleep eight hours safely in the parking lot and leave, I’d do it. I’m not afraid of roughing it, and I need no luxuries.

However, this place was a bit below a “lack of luxury,” and firmly in the “tenement” stage. This is the kind of motel you stay in when you’re expecting a guest from Craigslist.

Walking to my room, I noticed the pool was closed. Not unusual, since it’s October, but it looked like it had been closed after some science experiment had gone horribly wrong. It was more like a lagoon, the kind of green, thick swamp that no one swims in, and eventually scary muck-monsters come climbing out of in search of human flesh, and the have to call in the cops and the Marines and the Justice League to stop them.

I got to my room, which was the kind of place where you didn’t feel comfortable setting your bags down, much less yourself. Worse yet, it smelled. Not like someone had smoked in there, but like someone had rented the room, loaded lumber in the bathroom for eight hours, and then used the carpet to dry the sweat off of his body.

If armpits had assholes, that’s what this place would look like.

So now, I have the choice of fighting for a better room for forty bucks and seven hours, or just going to sleep and trying to make it work. I’m going to do the latter, although I am sleeping in my clothes, and looking for whatever the opposite of a “Breathe-Right” strip is.

I’m also wearing a condom just in case.

— Reid Kerr thanks the woman letting her kids play at the pool outside his window, even though they’re not wearing swim trunks or swimming, and appear to just be running back and forth screaming and punching each other at 1am.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.