If is the ultimate book about fantasy. Each of its questions is meant to spark and tantalize the imagination. They are a celebration of the human spirit, which loves to dream and needs to hope, but which can also fear and even grow angry.
The next randomly selected question is:
If you had to identify the worst hotel room you have ever stayed in, where was it?
It's a tie for me. But, it's no wonder. I'm so cheap that when it comes to footing the bill for a hotel room, I will more than likely opt for a "Motel-Six" type place over some of the nicer places that I've stayed at like The Anatole in Dallas or the La Quinta Resort in Palm Springs.
When I was in the Army and stationed at Fort Sam Houston for AIT, a group of us went downtown and rented several rooms at a dive hotel just around the corner from the
I came back from that weekend with a tattoo on my shoulder. The guy who crashed in the other bed in the room came back with crabs. He didnt sleep with one of the local hookers and he sure as hell didnt sleep with me, because he had his girlfriend with him. The best we could figure is that he got it from his mattress. But, I think my shenanigans may have been sufficient payback.
My second year in Los Angeles, I made the huge mistake of deciding to drive to Prescott, Arizona for the Thanksgiving holiday. It was the first time that I attempted to leave the Los Angeles area via car for a holiday weekend. I hit the road at about 4pm that Wednesday and I think every other person in L.A. did the same thing. What should have been a 5 or 6 hour drive, ended up taking me that long just to get to the California/Arizona border. At about 10pm, I stopped on the California side to buy gas. I was talking to the clerk and telling him how long I had been driving and that I still had a couple of hours ahead of me. I was telling him that I was so tired that I didn't thinkI could make it. He told me to pull around back and crash in the car. I asked him if it was a safe area. He said it was okay but if I'd like he'd keep an eye on my car. I thought about it for all of two seconds and said an emphatic Hell No! But, I did decide I should pull off for the night and get a room. I asked him where I could find a cheap hotel nearby. He directed me up the street.
It was what most would call a motor-inn. It's the kind you pull up to the front of your room. It must have been a hot-spot for truckers because there were several big-rigs in the lot. I requested an upstairs room. If I have to be alone, I always feel safer on the second floor of where ever I stay. I figure that it's harder to break into a second story window.
I was lucky. I think? There was a room available. However, the walkway ran the length of the building so the floor to ceiling windows were just as easily accessible to some transient molester who might notice that I was entering my room alone then if I ended up in a first floor room. The door lock was just one of those simple knob types, no double-bolt padlock for me. And, those wimpy chains don't mean much to a drugged up psycho trying to bust in. As such, I put a chair in front of the door and moved my nightstand in front of the window. Housekeeping, if there was such a thing for that place, left much to be desired. There was a layer of dust, more like dirt, on everything. Remembering the early experience in San Antonio, I was afraid to sleep on the bed. But, the lack of housekeeping made me even more leery to sleep on the floor. So, I opted for sleeping on a corner of the bed fully clothed with just a corner of the bedspread flipped over me. When I woke in the morning, I didn't even take a shower, the room just gave me the jeebies. I brushed my teeth and got the hell out of there. But, I did make it through the night, albeit a very restless one at that, because every time someone walked outside my room I woke up. Needless to say, I wait until the next morning now before leaving town on a holiday weekend. I'd rather wake at the crack of dawn then go through that mess again.