Note from the author: If you review this piece, you will notice weird spelling in some instances. I did this on purpose, to make the feel of the dialog a little more in tune with the scene.
The Motel From Hell
“No Nanna, we just landed,” I said holding my cell phone up to one ear, while my attempt to organize the luggage into the trunk was failing by degrees. “No, I think we’re just going to head over to the motel first, and get settled in before we come over and see you. Will that be ok?” I asked. “Fine, we’ll see you in about an hour. Love you.” With that I hung up, shoved the phone back into my pocket and returned my concentration to the task at hand. “Jesus GOD!” exclaimed my wife. “Tell me again, why we came to Florida in July? DIdn’t we vow NEVER to come back here in the summer?” she asked as she gave me what I interpreted to be an exasperated look. I couldn’t really tell, as she had just put on her massive Elton John shades, so all I saw was the two dark lenses staring at me blankly. I sighed, wiping my forehead with my handkerchief. “Yeah, well, no that we’re on the school schedule, this, or Christmas, or Spring break. Take your pick of travel hell.” I said, finally getting the last of the luggage into the trunk of the car. I slammed the trunk and took a moment to take in my surroundings. It was Florida alright. Scratch that, Florida in July. What does that mean you ask? It means that the air hits you in the lungs before you even step outside. It means that no matter what time of the day it is, you’re drenched in sweat, and your clothes are sticking to your body. As soon as you step outside, you’re senses are overwhelmed by the humidity which seems to attack all of them. You taste the mixture of sand and asphalt, which leaves a salty tangy funk in the back of your throat. Your eyes are immediately more sensitive to the instant increase in moisture, causing them to water more. Your nose almost instantly picks up an acute tangy oder, from the iron rich red dirt all around. Your ears automatically pick up the sounds of the surroundings, there seems to be a constant hum of insect life permeating the area. And finally, the sense of touch is affected by how incredibly hot everything is. As I said, this is Florida.
As soon as we could, we all jumped into the car, relishing the safety of air-conditioning. “How long is it going to take us to get to Nana’s house dad?” asked my son. “ ‘Bout thirty minutes buddy, why?” “Thirty minutes? is that all?” he whined in a complaining voice. “Umm, yeah.” “I was hoping we could stay in the car longer. Can I just sit in the A/C once we get to the motel? PLEASE!?” I laughed, feeling his pain. Looking over, I could see that my wife was of a similar mind. “Don’t sweat it too badly guys. We’ll be at the motel soon, and we can take a breather there… In the A/C,” I said. “Again! Please remind me why we’re doing this in July,” said my wife for the second time. I smiled, but decided not to engage in that conversation again.
We pulled up to the address listed on the GPS. My wife stared the window, now covered in a thin layer of the red dust. She pulled her sunglasses half way down her nose, before she gave me a sidelong glance. “Ummm, care to explain?” she asked, pointing ahead with her chin. “What?!” I asked somewhat defensively. “This was what I could get based on our criteria: Within ten miles of Nana’s house, close to highway access, close to restaurants etc. Oh and under $100.00 per night… you’re words,” I said, flashing one of my best “used-car salesman” smiles. She pushed her sunglasses back up and continued to stare. What stood before us was something straight out of a bad horror flick, in particular, a horror flick about a hitch-hiking stalker/killer. It was your standard, “down south” Roadway Inn. Complete with shutters hanging limply on the window sill, in dire need or a paint job, and a lop eared hound dog sleeping out front of the entrance. “All this place is missing is some little handicapped boy with a banjo,” said my wife in a deadpanned tone. Deciding not to take her sarcasm seriously, I smiled and shook my head. “Well, I’m sure I could find one ‘round here somewhere’s,” I said. “And LOOK honey, an honest-to-GOD Waffle house. We totally gotta go there at like two o’clock in the morning and order a mess o’ grits!” She gave me another sidelong glance before she headed to the front door. I stood, looking around. The place had changed somewhat from my childhood. What used to be a very rural location, now was busy with all that one would expect to find at a motel near the highway. Only now, instead of just a run down gas station and a Waffle House next to it, there was all the modern amenities that the wayward traveler could want. Next to the Waffle House, was a drive-through Starbucks, and a Firehouse sub sandwich shop, topped off with a “LUV’S” super-sized truck stop. My wife stuck her head out the front door, a look of bewilderment on her face. In a low hurried tone, she said, “Um, Honey? I need you to come in here. I don’t understand what these people are saying.” I gave her a look of complete incredulity. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Well, I think they’re speaking English, but I really don’t know! I need your help! You’re the linguist after all.” I rolled my eyes, as I walked to the entrance.
I walked in, and immediately became aware of the fact that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The walls were all adorned with various forms of NASCAR paraphernalia, velvet pictures of Jesus, and placard’s of membership to the NRA. Behind the counter was an elderly gentleman with black horn-rimmed glasses, and a hair do that looked like he had dipped his head in a vat of grease. He seemed to be missing a few teeth, which was evident when he flashed his best smile. “If you say one word about Deliverance, I’ll slap you,” I said in a quiet tone out the side or my mouth to my wife. “Afternoon, where y’all a comin’ from?” asked the man behind the counter. “Uh, yes, umm, Earl is it?” I asked hesitantly noticing his name badge. “We’re in from Portland, Oregon.” “Oregon!? that’s perty far away ain’t it.” I flinched slightly at his pronunciation of Oregon, said like, “Or-eee-gun.” “Yeah, pretty much the opposite side of the world, it seems,” I said sheepishly. “You have a reservation for Williams?” I asked. “Williams, Williams, umm, Wilson? Nope! Wilkerson? Naw that ain’t it neither. AH yes, here we are, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. I have y’all a stayin’ fer six nights?” “That’s right,” I said, casually glancing around. “Do you all have pool here?” He glanced at me over the rim of his thick glasses. “Yessir Mr. Williams, one of the best around! It’s just out back. Y’all got towels in yer bathroom. It’s opened ’til 10:00 pm. Wait one moment an’ I’ll get Fred to show you to your rooms,” he said, as he stepped past me to open a side door. “Hey Fred, FRED! FRED DAMMIT WHERE TH’ HELL ARE YE?” He looked back and forth scanning the side parking lot, shaking his head indignantly. Muttering to himself, he said under his breath, “I swear to all that is holy, that boy is the LAZIEST sum’bitch!” My wife gave me another quizzical look, to which I just shook my head and smiled again. Earl’s mutterings were interrupted by the sound of loud guttural hacking, coupled with heavy wheezing. “Ah there ye are Fred. Dammit boy, where ye been?” “Sorry Earl, I was out back fixing’ to clean the paper towel out of the toilet in unit fourteen. I swear, it looks like somebody shot a dawg in there.” Earl nodded, as he gathered out paper work. “There you go Mr. Williams, just follow Fred, an’ he’ll show you to yer room. Enjoy your stay.” My wife gave me another look, but said nothing and followed me and Fred.
We walked out through the side door of the office that exited to a central courtyard. When we got outside, we both were struck dumb by the site of the pool. “Is that a goose swimming in the, um.. excuse me, um, Fred is it?” My wife asked hesitantly. Fred half turned with a humph, “huh, what’s that?” he asked, looking at my wife. “I asked, is that the pool?” He gave us a blank look for a moment, then fixed his gaze on the “pool”. “Yes Ma’am, that there’s the finest pool in these parts.” “Yes, but there’s a goose swimming in there. And is that a…” she trailed off, staring at something at the bottom of the pool. “Ahem, is that a tire at the bottom of the pool?” she asked incredulously. “Hmm, oh that,” said Fred. “Yeah, hadn’t gotten ‘round to pullin’ that out yet. Been meaning to do that since last August.” My wife blanched, and gave me a scathing look. I gave a half hearted laugh, which died in my throat. I looked at the pool again, and then back to Fred, when something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I suddenly looked back at the pool, and stood dumbfounded as I saw something long, large and black gliding through the water. “What the HELL is that?” My wife asked in alarm. Fred casually glanced back at the object moving in the pool and replied equally casually, “Ah that? That ain’t nuttin’ but a little ole’ bitty water moccasin. He won’t hurt ye. Just give ‘im a wide berth, if ya know what I mean.” My wife was visibly shaking at this point. Whether it was from fright, or anger, I couldn’t quite tell just yet, but I wasn’t anxious to find out.
We finally got to our room. Fred inserted the key, giving the knob a turn, followed by a swift kick to the door. “Sometimes the humidity makes the door stick. Just gotta give it a good kick if’n that happens,” he said, handing me the keys. I didn’t bother looking at my wife, knowing she was giving me the harriest of eyeballs. The door opened, and we were both assaulted by the smell of something acrid. My wife had her hand over her mouth in an instant, and I wasn’t a moment behind. We looked at each other, and I noticed that her eyes were actually watering. With that, we both exited as quickly as we could, leaving Fred standing in the doorway. We both walked in a very hurried pace, almost running back to the front office. Before I could say anything, my wife grabbed the keys, and slammed them down on the front desk, giving Earl a nasty start. “What in the HELL is wrong lady?” asked Earl, who was breathing heavily, and was clutching at his shirt. In her sweetest albeit annoyed voice she said, “I’m sorry, umm, Earl is it? Yes, We’ve decided that we’ve changed our mind, and will not be staying at your establishment for the duration of our stay.” Early blinked, as she walked out the front door, slamming it. This sudden noise woke the hound dog up who responded with a loud howl, which made my wife scream in shock, followed by a long string of obscenities. I looked at Earl with a slight shrug. “Just charge us for the one evening. Thanks,” I said with a sheepish smile, as I back-stepped to the front door. Earl, for his part, just stared at us as we hurried to our car. “What in THE HELL is wrong with them damned Yankees?” said Fred who had come up to the front office. Earl didn’t say anything, but shook his head. I could only guess what they were saying as we pulled out of the driveway, throwing dirt and rocks all over the place. My wife was shaking again. I gave her a quick sidelong glance, preparing for whatever she had to dish out at me. To my great relief, she was laughing hysterically. “That is the LAST time I let you book a hotel online.”
loved the story