As I got off work Friday night, I was greeted by one of the many homeless who wander the streets of downtown Tulsa. She asked me for change. I told her I didn't have any. Then she saw I was carrying a plastic cup filled with soda.
"Can I have some of that pop?" she asked.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a silver can.
"Ooooooo! A beer!" she exclaimed as I handed it to her.
She sang some little ditty as she skipped down the street with the Diet Coke I had just given her. That night I stayed at another motel. Not the Interstate Inn, but the Royal Inn: it's in a different area from the other ones just off the turnpike, kind of an industrial area just off the I-44/U.S. 75 interchange. The time I stayed there before it wasn't bad; slighty bigger room that was slightly cleaner, wireless Internet and no porn channels -- just Showtime.
As I pulled up into the parking lot, I saw a woman, scantily clad, get out of a car in the lot, while her male counterpart stayed in the vehicle and watch. She knocked on one door, then moved to another. It seemed like she wasn't sure what room she was looking for.
As I headed for my room, a man walked across the courtyard, making a beeline for me. In a way, I really wasn't surprised at what happened next:
"I need a friend; would you be a friend?" he slurred. "I'll give you $10 if you can give me a ride."
I can't help but wonder whether offering $10 for a ride is some sort of street code for something unsavory. It was eerily like before.
I got to my room and locked the door, a bit disappointed that there wasn't a deadbolt. This was when I found this in the bathroom:
Then a knock at the door -- a very soft knock.
I slowly hooked the doorchain, which seemed woefully inadequate.
At this point, I don't know what's scariest: the homeless lady who's going to be mad at me for turning her beer into a soda, and a sugarless one at that; what might be pimps and hos canvassing the neighborhood; the ginormous syringe that is used for purposes in seedy motel that I dare not imagine; or just that fact that I keep staying at these places.
LF: $204.38
18 comments:
Was that quarter already there, or did you strategically place it to show just how damn big the syringe was?
Looking at the bright side, the London Fund seems to have experienced record growth. Did you sell that syringe for $100? Or did you give that guy ten rides?
No, I just started knocking softly on a few doors.
I placed my two bits there for scale.
What would that type of syringe be used for, Nurse Z?
It looks sort of like the adrenaline shot in "Pulp Fiction."
(I want you to not stay in these motels anymore. Can't you find a nice old widow lady with a room to let?)
George,
You need a new living arrangement. How much longer will this go on?
George, what's the name of that movie about the hotel where those two kids find a dead whore under the mattress? Didn't they also find a syringe?
Are you talking about "A Night at the Golden Eagle"? You're going obscure if you are. I can't remember if there was a syringe in the movie, and at my room I didn't check under the mattress.
CL, trust me: I'm commuting; in another month I drop to part time, so seedy locales will then be unnecessary.
KC, that was "Four Rooms." Good movie!
Yikes, that looks like something you would use to draw blood from large mammals.
Or did Oklahoma start providing clean needles in seedy hotels that addicts frequent? Probably not. At any rate, it's a shame that you put the quarter there. It would have been fun trying to figure out what it was for.
That's kind of what I was thinking, Danny. For use with a big horse, elephant or humpback whale. See, your farm background is still so useful.
I'd like to think that if Domestic Christy hadn't been saddled with a special section, she would have been able to solve the mystery.
Instead it was Chris, who called me to tell me that they sell these for $2.47 at Wal-Mart.
A cooking implement? I'm guessing no one was roasting a turkey in the motel room.
Maybe someone thought it would be a cheap and hilarious prank to leave one of those in the room.
Actually, some of the long-term guests at this motel had grills outside their doors. The day before I had seen someone firing up a barbecue on the second-floor walkway.
Wow, I didn't know motels were coming barbecue-ready these days.
What were they grilling? Baloney?
See, I think you're just setting me up to say things such as "I'm sure someone was smoking some sausage" or "Well, who wouldn't want to pump their meat for flavor."
It's not my fault!
George, we know it's not your fault. No one wants to judge you. We just want to give you every opportunity to inflate your story! No one would want to have to bench you for being judicious with your details.
I dunno, Sharon; I'm afraid if I get carried away I'll turn into BH.
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