Monday, October 23, 2006

Ghettotel 8

I took a little trip to Minneapolis this past weekend and made the mistake of staying at a Super 8 motel.

I know, I can hear the gasps and the pearl-clutching of all the gay blog readers out there. Why on EARTH would I subject myself to staying at a Super 8? I should be staying at a W hotel, or a Hyatt, or even a Paris Hilton (I hear she's very roomy). What was I thinking???

I was thinking that I needed to save money.

And I did save some money, as I stayed there one night only (Thursday), and then shacked up with nthwave (k-dog) from stageright-stageleft. He says he lives in "the hood" but I quite liked his place. Plus, it was nowhere NEAR the Super 8- and that was definitely the hood.

Let me tell you a bit about my motel experience.

I walked up to check in, and I was met by the young, motel desk clerk with intensely bloodshot eyes and the semi-giddy demeanor. I think that he was freshly stoned. He checked me in clumsily while two, pre-teenaged black girls ran about the lobby drinking free coffee and complaining of the bitter taste. They seemed quite interested in the goings-on of the check-in process. I saw no parental supervision for these girls (more on this in a minute).

I was given room 144. I grabbed my luggage, my briefcase, and headed down to my room. I slide the key in the lock, it opens, I swing the door inward... only to have it stopped by the chainlock.

Chainlock??? Why would my room be locked from the inside??? Then I see the lights on, hear the TV, and then hear the person IN my room say in a very loud, very angry voice "CAN I HELP YOU?"

CB: Oh. Sorry sir. The front desk gave me this key. I'll just.... yeah.

So I trot back to the desk, where I have to wait for a young couple to check in. The young couple consists of two black men in matching leather coats with statues of liberty embroidered on the back. Well, technically they weren't precisely matching, as one had the gold stitching, and the other had the silver stitching. They argued whether they needed one bed or two (one was evidently enough) and they paid in cash.

Once this transaction was complete, I politely asked if the hotel clerk could perhaps find me a room that wasn't already occupied by someone because I wasn't in the mood to bunk with a stranger.

The two girls from before are still running about and watching the proceedings closely. Its like 10 pm. Do the not have any parents? Or are they very young working girls?

While my room situation is being straightened out, I watch an elderly black gentleman decend the front stairway clad only in boxer shorts. He is holding a styrofoam takeout container. He stumbles up to the microwave in the lobby, opens up the container (it appeared to be buffalo wings or something) and proceeds to nuke it.

I get my new room assignment (room 254) and head on up. Let me tell you, it was a dream suite.

The room was small. No closet. No iron. No coffeemaker. No furniture other than the bed, nightstand, and a built-in desk/dresser. The TV sat on a metal pole and was of a vintage not seen since Reagan was in the whitehouse.

I think I liked the headboard best. It was a headboard in name only, as it was drilled and attached to the wall. Part of it was broken, too. I think I got a picture of that.

The entire time I'm in the room, I'm thinking of CSI- and what that black light might show. My guess is that there was semen covering every inch of the comforter. And probably the headboard as well.

K-dog shows up and is mystified by the room. He figures that Super 8's are supposed to be a step up from a Motel 6 (because of the numerical sequencing). I inform him that this would make perfect sense if this were a Motel 8. But I think the Super 8 is not affiliated with the Tom Bodette chain in any way.

He and I head out for burgers at a 24 hour diner place in his hometown. The burgers are good. But then, because its a school night and I have a big day on Friday, he takes me back to my motel.

Upon entry, there is a large group of men in hunting clothes all trying to check in. Other than that 'daddy quotient' of the group, they all appear a bit drunk and grubby.

The two girls are still in the lobby. I'm now convinced they were teen hookers.

I waited my turn, and then asked the new hotel clerk (female, not stoned) if I could borrow an iron so that I could iron my shirt. I had to sign out the piece of shit on a clipboard. I managed to iron it on the built in desk using a folded up towel as the ironing 'board'.

Trying to fall asleep that night was a challenge as the people having sex in the room next to me were somewhat vocal. Judging from the female quotient of the display, it was not the two black guys I saw checking in. Then there was the arguement which took place in the hall sometime around 2 am. The arguement was proceeded by some very loud door-pounding.

People were coming (cumming) and going all night in that place. I got very little sleep.

The best part of my stay was heading to the Denny's for breakfast. It was just across the parking lot, so it was completely within bullet-dodging distance. I headed over around 9 am.

Let me tell you- Denny's does breakfast right. I'm not sure about their other food, but man... breakfast! Holy shit. For 6 bucks you can eat like a Biggest Loser contestant turned loose at the Golden Coral buffet.

Needless to say, after breakfast, I cleaned up in my room, packed up, and checked out never to return.

At least the rental car was still intact that morning.

1 Comments:

At 8:59 AM, Blogger Six Shooter said...

Heh. "Shacked up."

I bet you did, you pervert.

 

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