I'm Alive

Yes, I am alive . . .

But barely.

If Days Inn continues to have its way with my tender psyche, I'm not sure for how much longer.

You see, it all began a long, long time ago. A dedicated reader and friend found out we would both be working the second half of the summer in the same city. So, we decided, why not room together?!

Great idea?

Sure. I think if he wasn't around, I probably would be flying my boxers on the antenna of my car and the picture I sent my mother of the view from my office would instead be the last thing I was to see before teaching myself how to fly.

So he has his firm start looking for a 2 bedroom furnished apartment willing to rent for one month. But, there being a housing shortage here as a result of the Oil&Gas boom, the only thing available was a 1 bedroom.

Unwilling to give up our ill-fated plan to room together, and with very little time left, I call up the Days Inn -- the only hotel (ha ha) in town with a kitchenette.

And after what I conceded to myself was a bit of smooth talking I had the price reduced from $99/night to a more reasonable $50.

I wasn't the one to check in.

He was. His wife, with him at the time, told him she wouldn't be visiting.

I'm sure, rather, what she meant was . . . she doesn't want to catch some mysterious disease. I only hope that if he brings one home she will understand that it was the result of no ill-behavior on his part.

It was, he can explain, Mr. Misery's fault.

But, then again, I'm not sure that would make things any better either . . .

Well, needless to say . . . $50 is hardly a bargain.

As I sit here staring at the odd colored walls, two questions come to mind:

1. Where was the clearance paint sale whose selection was limited to this the weekend the good people at Days Inn had the bright idea to redecorate, and . . .

2. I wonder what the genius at Kelly Moore named this lovely shade of puke shortly before he presented it to his bosses and was summarily dismissed as a result of his affinity for cruel practical jokes?

It is a smoking room, and smells it.

I suppose the maid did make some attempt at cleaning the afternoon we moved in. Afterall, the ice bucket was turned upside with a fresh baggie and two unwrapped cups place atop it.

I'm sure it was a mere oversight the cabinets full of Ramen that were left, and the bread fermenting above the stove.

And perhaps housekeeping was nice enough to believe the next guests to come by the pleasure of visiting our little wonderland would appreciate the half-empty bottle of Vagisil Cream awaiting us on the back of the toilet.

But I do have a hard time believing that the maids had no clue that the molding towels hanging over the sides of the bathtub probably needed to be washed.

I mean, c'mon, they would have had to have held their noses while reaching across the tub to hang the clean towels in their place.

They were kind enough today to remove them from the middle of the living room floor where we piled them last night, fortunately . . .

As if that all weren't enough to grate upon my delicate nerves, then I finally snuggle into bed and in the quiet of the night I hear:

Click. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Click

[silence]

Click. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Click.

[silence]

Of course, the toilet would have to run too!! What a fool I'd be to think I wouldn't be serenaded to sleep by the sweet sounds of the plumbing in this magical world I call Hell in a Motel.

Okay, so it sounds pretty bad right?

Y'know, though, I could've stomached all of that . . . but one last event just ran my flag up the pole and had me swinging in the breeze.

Have you ever seen My Cousin Vinny, where the great and wise attorney Vincent Gambino stays in an old hotel only to be awoken by a train blaring its whistle and shaking him awake at 5 a.m.?

Funny stuff, huh?

Now imagine that happening 6 times in one night.

6 times.

One night.

Goodbye sanity.

Each time I would be rudely woken by the blaring of the freight train's whistle, and then gently rocked back to sleep by the vibrations of the train as it rumbled along the track just outside my 3rd story window.

I have yet to imagine the genius that would choose to build a hotel right next to what I have come to conclude must be the busiest freight train corridor in all of the great state of Texas.

But when I find him, I'll invite him over for a sleepover.

In the meantime I've decided to utilize the foam wonders of modern technology that are Ear Plugs (provided free of charge by the Wonderful Texas Tech School of Law Library).

I just hope I hear the alarm in the morning.

Lose my sanity or lose my job: your choice.