My office is not in the best part of town and, the best part about that is, it is surrounded my multiple seedy motels.
Today I decided to take pictures at several of the motels and was pleased to find one of the motels now has a honeymoon suite. I had taken a few exterior pictures of the motel and then decided to inquire about the suite.
Two women with the equivalent of one woman’s set of teeth were working the front desk. “Do you really have a honeymoon suite?” I asked. “Yes.” “What is in it?” “A hot tub, wet bar and something else,” the one with the least teeth replied. “Do you have pictures?” I asked. Instead of answering my question, they both turned their backs on me and walked to the back room. It was clear I was not going to get to see the honeymoon suite. Bummer really. Especially since Rusty Rogue Rafael had proposed to me via instant message yesterday – he got a good deal on a gold ring, “Made in Italy, stolen in Amsterdam,” he informed me.
After snapping a few more pictures I headed to the next motel. Although this motel didn’t have a honeymoon suite, in addition to the plush hourly lodging, they had trailer pads available. So much goodness. I opted against inquiring about the trailer pads and began snapping pictures. Withing seconds, one of the owners started walking briskly toward me – with a PBR in his hand. I snapped a few quick picks and ran to my car before he caught up with me. As soon as I sped away he returned to his position on the concrete post.
I returned to work and was sharing the story with The Responsible One. “You should have asked if they take government rates, hourly.” ‘That’s a good idea. I’m pretty sure they thought I was vice. Next time, I’m getting a Geo Storm, dressing down, and paying cash for the honeymoon suite.”