I was somewhere in numbfrick Montana. So far in the sticks I had to drive 70 miles to the closest mom and pop motel. There was no identification of the town’s name anywhere, even my GPS was confused, recalculating, recalculating! To this day I have no idea what town I was in. I was beat and the feel of a bed was going to be so good.
The room was small. When I opened the door, it hit the edge of the bed, I could only open it half way. I had to push my suitcase inside ahead of me and sort of toss it on the bed before I could squeeze in. The building was more like an attached garage with an upstairs apartment. I was on the ground floor.
I didn’t check out the bathroom, I didn’t have to, I could already hear the toilet running. Years experience has taught me to try to not think about the bathroom or shower.
First order of business is to throw the foam filled bed spread off the bed and on the floor, never use them. I swear I see an impression of a body in the fetal position sunken into the mattress. Looks like I’m sleeping on top of the sheets tonight.
I have a floor pounder. In hotel motel speak that is an asshole on the floor above you that walks like he’s in a marching band halftime show on a football field. You can run into them in any motel, best to the worst. They must pace all night long, heel to toe. Moves constantly. Feet pounding an uneven rhythm. Two thumps, five thumps, three thumps, a cruise across the room from the bathroom to the air-conditioner. Pound pound pound. He must be skipping up there.?
Shut the hell up and settle down you ignorant piece of crap, please! Take a sleeping pill for gods sake. How can anyone keep moving so much?
Oh man, now it’s the thump, thump, thump, thump, thumping headboard against the wall. Even noisy when making love or what ever he is doing.
For crying out loud! Turn down the fricking TV!
Let’s just say I passed up the morning breakfast buffet.
Such is the life of John.
DistantShipSmoke 