I've Gone To Look For America

I've stayed in some interesting places as I've made my way across rural America. Interesting as in deeply disturbing.

One motel had little signs on the nightstands asking guests not to clean wild game in the room and warning of a $100 fine for blood in the bathtub. That explained the stains.

Another had a manager who was bizarrely proud of the lobby coffeepot. "You've got to have some," he insisted when we checked in. "I make some great coffee." When we arrived in the afternoon, when we left for dinner, when we returned from dinner, when we left in the morning, he was polishing the glass on the front door. At check-out, a colleague complained that the shower in his room, one of the four occupied rooms in an otherwise empty motel, only had hot water. "Oh yeah," the manager giggled, "I've been meaning to fix that. I haven't had any help here in a long time. I don't sleep much now." I came through the area the following year but had to stay somewhere else while authorities cleaned the residue from the drug lab he'd been running in the office.

Tonight there's not even an interesting story to kill the time, just the whir of the cheap, in-room heating unit, loud enough to make watching television impossible. There's a mark on the carpet that looks as though someone once tried to iron the floor. The view is of the parking lot and the state highway beyond. Someone's been smoking in this "nonsmoking room" and I'd be willing to bet it's one of the meth head maids. There's high speed internet, of course, but nowadays you get that when you rent a yurt. It gives me something to do, at least.

Tomorrow's a better room, nicer meals, more to do. It's also one night closer to home, where even my kids wouldn't gut an animal indoors.