We have been living in hotels now for 37 days. We are so ready to close our house and move in on September 1st, just in time for college football season. What, besides price differentiates the choices you have on the Great American Road Trip?
Now, after the usual filters (dogs allowed), hopefully a first-floor room, free breakfast, pool, housekeeping (do you believe that you actually have to ask if you want your room cleaned?).
When we were informed of the abbreviated and in many cases, eliminated amenities, I’m all like “Do we want our room cleaned?” I don’t know, do you wipe your ass after taking a shit? You foul, smelly idiot, I suppose we can stack our trash on the floor so the mice can get to it easier. We won’t even need clean sheets or towels either, I’ll just urinate into the little dorm refrigerator and clean off my nether regions on the comforter.”
I may not have said those exact words, but I think I was frowning when I said “O.K., no problem.”
My mom was an amenity-hoarder.
After we flew Pan American from San Francisco to Tokyo in 1960, we washed our hands with those little, tiny mini-soaps and our hair with those cool miniature shampoos. There were little mini Aqua Velva colognes, Prell Shampoos, even little containers of Dippity-Doo.
I didn’t think much of it; I just thought I had big hands.
Jams, jellies, any free stuff basically, and I still remember using little Smucker’s preserves packets to spread on my Wonder Bread (no, we won’t get into any conspiracy theories regarding Wonder Bread. I loved it). Ketchup packets, mayo, soy sauce, basically any type of condiment were accumulated in gross.
I couldn’t believe our luck when we pulled into a beautiful hotel in the green woods of Arkansas. Literally in the middle of nowhere, this gem had spacious, well appointed rooms and was absolutely loaded with amenities. The views were money, and it was quiet and peaceful all through the night.
So we are now driving in Kentucky, about an hour removed from our awesome room, and the Domestic Despot starts snooping around the rear of the Highlander and how I packed it.
“What is all this,” she asked?
“Amenities,” I replied rather matter-of-factly.
“A coffee maker, ten tubes of shampoo, seven mini-bars of oatmeal-peach boutique soap, four glasses, a wall-mounted mirror, three notepads, one mouse pad. Is that a clock-radio? What the hell?”
“Oh this, too. An iron and mini-ironing board.” I was holding them up and smiling like I had just hooked two fat rainbow trout.
Needless to say, but I will say it anyway. We had to take a one-hour detour before resuming our journey.