Trials and tribulations of a traveling man.

Once again I found myself in New Hampshire. It seems when there I always end up with something to write about. This time was no exception.

I knew I had been to the motel before but we stay in so many details tend to mix and it takes a while to sort them out.

I was quite tired and relieved to see my room number was 116. Obviously on the lower level and close. As I started down the hallway I looked at the door of the first room and saw it to be 645.
How the heck could 645 be on the first floor? And where the HELL was 116 in relationship?
The corridor was long but fortunately the numbers got lower. As I went up steps and down steps and around slight corners things began to look familiar. My trek ended at the far reaches of the complex.

As soon as I opened the door to my room and looked at the bed I knew I had been there before.

“OH NO!” I said to myself, yet partially aloud, “Now I remember this place…These are the beds with the dreaded HEAVY BEDSPREADS!”

I realize bedspreads are for decoration and not meant to be slept under, but these were different.

Yes, I remembered it well. The bedspreads were lavish with a royal elegance about them. The first time I was there I plopped down on a very soft plush king size bed with visions of getting a beautiful nights sleep only to find the bedspread weighted a ton.

Did you ever have an Xray where they place a heavy pad on your chest? That bedspread was about twice as heavy.

This time I was too tired to do anything about it. I merely lifted the heavy shroud, forced myself inside and was gone.

Two hours later I woke in a heavy sweat. I was on fire because of the heat generated by the heavy material.

“Damn it!” I said as I jumped out of bed, grabbed the cover and yanked it to the floor, “I am NOT sleeping under that heavy rag anymore!”

I jumped back into bed and quickly realized why I used the spread in the first place. The covers consisted of a sheet and a flimsy little blanket. Neither came up to my chest. Whoever made the bed crammed the covers way under the end of the bed without leaving enough to cover me. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to sleep like that. My only option was to get the bedspread again or call the front desk for another blanket but I knew I was so far away it would take an hour to arrive.

The bedspread was out, the front desk was out…I decided to tug on the blanket.
It didn’t budge.
I tugged harder.
Nothing, it would not move.
“What the HELL do they do here, NAIL the blankets to the bed?”

I pulled as hard as I could and the blankets flew out from their captivity.

Now my feet were sticking out!

I hate cold feet. I tried to curl up under the blanket but I knew I would wake later freezing. I went to the heater/air-conditioning unit. I always have the fan on to block out noises. I turned up the heat a little. It seemed to help, as I was able to curl up and fall asleep.

An hour later I woke up sweating again. The unit was poring out heat. It was roasting in there. The fan was also making a terrible noise. I ran over, flicked the switch to the cool side and realized I didn’t need the noisy fan anyway because I was in a quiet area. I moved the switch to the off position.
The fan stayed on.
I moved it back and forth and the speed never changed.
I shut it off again and it stayed on.

So here I was, in a room that fluctuated between hot and cold, with a noisy fan, and a bed with hardly any blankets…or WAY too many. I decided to have lunch!

A short walk from the motel was a delightful Italian restaurant with fantastic food. The last time there I had a splendid Calzone. This time I ordered the same. It was sensational and so huge I could only eat half.

I went to the counter for a take-out box. They asked if I enjoyed it and I raved.

“I have a suggestion. You call it the “Italian Stallion”…why not call it “The Stallone Calzone”? They laughed and said they’d run it by the owner.

I smiled and complemented their restaurant and said I’d been there once before, “The time the lady choked on a piece of sausage and almost died.”

A writer tends to live in a fantasy world to varying degrees. In my case illusion, delusion, collusion, and elusion, sometimes cause confusion.

They looked at me with questioning eyes and said they didn’t remember such an episode?

It was then I remembered I made the whole thing up and told you in a previous tale.

Actually, it was not entirely fictitious. I was there having a Calzone and a lady behind me did cough a few times to clear her throat. I merely exaggerated the size of the obstruction.

Cheers,
By George