you are so ugly I cannot look at you: three motel stories

Motel Story 1

Rachael, my sister , and I decided to drive around Puerto Rico one summer. Apparently this is something you can do in a day without interludes but we had read about paradors – guest houses -- throughout the island. With descriptions like ‘as you eat breakfast on the peaceful veranda , hummingbirds will sweep by’ we made reservations at all the spots where we planned to visit a site – El Yunque Rain Forest, the Phosphorescent Bay etc.

We checked into our second parador after San Juan and it resembled a dungeon-like dorm room. There were no hummingbirds during breakfast but there was a scowling hostess whose disdain for guests taking an extra piece of toast was very clear.

We decided to wing it and canceled our future reservations. When we got to our next stop we asked around and ended up at a motel with a broken concrete parking area filled with a pack of wild dogs. My sister conversed with the owner about staying and was told we could stay but only one night. She said the honeymooners were returning.

We got to our room and closed the tin door – inside it was sprayed in scrawling type “Check Out at 11!”The room’s shabbiness was masked by dense floral patterns and the toilet was contained in a semi circle plastic addition that was literally 1 in from the bed! We tried to imagine this honeymoon couple in this place. Apparently they had stayed there after their wedding and had conceived their 1st child there – and the next day they were returning to the scene.

We watched a show about spousal abuse that night. There was a man who would constantly say to his wife, “Turn your head; you are so ugly I cannot look at you."

We said goodnight with these same words to each other.

Motel Story 2

In Chicago we live near an old motel strip – the sorts of places with huge early Vegas like signs. These have seen their day but they were once frequented by rock bands when they came to town. They’re being torn down one by one now but in the late ‘90’s and up until now they catered to transient types, hookers and high school kids looking for a place to have sex.

My brother was planning a trip to Chicago and because he’s in a wheelchair we had to find a hotel to accommodate him. Keeping with family tradition (my Dad’s), he got sticker shock with Chicago prices and didn’t want to spend so much money on a place where he was just going to sleep. I told him about those motels & that they were gross but he said he didn’t care.

So I spent a day visiting these fine establishments. I went out armed with a yardstick to see if the doorways would fit his chair and to look at the bathrooms. There were doorways as narrow as 20 inches! Some places refused to show me a room because they thought I was a cop – that happened at a place where there was a man with a pasted on black moustache. You would think these crappy places might welcome business but some said they didn’t take reservations . Some asked how long he would be staying . When I said days they said ‘oh we only go by the hour.’ One room I was allowed to look at had a 100 pack box of condoms on the bedside table!

Needless to say my brother didn’t stay at any of these but Kevin & I did when we failed to make arrangements for ourselves while we had our floors refinished. We checked into ‘The Acres” which was supposedly a decent motel in my husband's youth—he & his sister used to sneak into the pool when they were young. Well the pool was no more on the day we were there and the carpeting revolting – thick and oily from years of filth – that we didn’t remove our shoes for the entire time. As we were leaving , I did the quick under the bed check to find an empty coke can & 2 Penthouse magazines. Super gross!

Motel Mississippi

Kevin and I flew to Memphis with plans to drive from there to New Orleans for Jazz Fest. On the plane he discovered that his license had expired so I got to drive for the entire trip. We hung out at the Peabody in Memphis – a swank southern hotel with a lobby of fountains, high tea, a flock of ducks (that lives at the hotel, upstairs, in a room, and each morning the red carpet is rolled out & they come out of the elevator and head to the fountain – then they head back up in the afternoon) and frequented by students of Ole Miss during the holidays.

We drove on from there to Jackson Miss – and stopped late night at a crappy motel that was ‘just a place to sleep’ as Dad would say. We were a bit scared by the place and enough so that we moved a dresser up against the door. In the morning we heard a knock. The person outside the door was telling us that our keys were in the door.

-Sadie Gerbic of Chicago, IL
www.sadiegerbic.blogspot.com