All the Comforts of Home

So I thought I was "roughing it" when I stayed at the Motel 6 in Santa Ana for $52 a night because the computer station was primitive and the walls smelled smokey. Baha! Then I came to long island and tried to live the cheapo business relocator traveler life.

Thanks to some awful golf tournament, the price of all of the local hotels doubled and tripled. Last night I found myself paying $109+tax for a grand total of $122 for a room at the Days Inn. Pulling up, I thought it was a dumpy ethnic neighborhood, but whatever, I grew up in a dumpy ethnic neighborhood and it was actually kinda nice seeing all of the black and Hispanic families enjoying their weekend shopping with the kids. I shrugged off my reservations and just went with the flow.

At midnight, jet lagged, still awake and starving to death, I decided to investigate the snack machine inventory. I slipped my sockless feet into my sneakers and (too lazy to lace up) I clip clopped over to the vending machine. But there was no vending machine. Just an ice machine. I glanced across the street and the empty lot beyond it at a Gulp gas station 50 yards away. I got that queasy "gosh its dark and spooky" knot in my stomach I'm convinced men know nothing about. But then I thought, 50 yards, hungry, 50 yards, hungry....

I got there and the apparently bored attendant started trying to reel me into a conversation which quickly turned weird. He asked, "How much are the rooms at the Days Inn". I explained that I went through travelocity and gave him the rate. He asked, "is that for 12 or 24 hours"? Huh? Who rents by the half day? He tried to keep me there talking, but I cut it short. I was too tired to be patient with this guy.

As I walked around the chain linked fence separating the gas station from the spooky parking lot on my way back to the hotel, a truck pulled around on the other side of the fence and asked, "How are you doing?" It suddenly dawned on me that I cant even run in my unlaced shoes! "Good" I barked and shuffled toward my hotel as quickly as my sneakers turned flip flops would take me. My God, this guy could kill me, eat my liver, dress up in a suite made from my skin, and be gone hours before anyone would even notice the stench. After 20 yards, I looked back, but he was gone. I should have known. Serial killers clearly prefer affluent neighborhoods. Nope. It was a John. Mom would've been so proud!

When I returned to my room, I read reviews from a Days Inn patron who claimed to have been stuck next door to a hooker. How would he know it was a hooker?!

At around 1:30am I heard weird sex. I've been next door to newly weds before and this was nothing like that. There was grunting and moaning followed by pleading then more grunting. My sleep was awful that night! Every time I heard a noise I'd sit up and listen closely to hear if the sounds were indicative of the guy next door trying to hide the hookers body.

At 3:30am, awake again I searched for a hotel for the next night. The price for a room at the Days Inn had gone up to $148+tax.