Saddle Up, Cowboys

This is going to be a long one.

So, this past weekend some of my friends and I went to Knoxville for the Alabama/UT game. We got there Friday night, stayed with the team at the Airport Hilton, got up and tailgated all day Saturday, then enjoyed a good old-fashioned ass-whooping that night.

*Mrs. Alley, I hate to be the one to break this news to you, but your daughter did not stay on a houseboat last Saturday night. If you'd like to just leave it at that, stop reading now.

The Plan:

The game ended at around 11, and Susan, Erin and I called our resident Knoxpert Jaime. We were going to meet up so she could give us the Grimsley Nighttime Tour of her college town. Local food sampling, late-night carousing and smack-talking were on the agenda. After we had gotten our fill of pretending like we were still students, we would head back to Jaime's houseboat. There, we would lay our weary heads to rest as the game-night's revelry waned and the Tennessee River rocked us to sleep.

Real Life:

The game ended at around 11, and Susan, Erin and I called our resident Knoxpert Jaime. Unfortunately, instead of ringing it went straight to her voicemail. Apparently, it had died and alas, she had no charger. We had no idea of her whereabouts OR the whereabouts of said houseboat. OK. New plan. I called the other friends we were with to catch them up to speed. Maybe we could all split a hotel room again and call it a night. "Hey!" My sister answered. "We decided to drive on back tonight! TTYL!"

12:00

No big deal. We decided to go to a place where we could clear our heads and devise a brilliant plan. A place where we could rest our definitely-NOT-students-anymore bodies and revive our spirits. A place of calm and inspiration. And so midnight found us: sitting silently around a table at Moe's diving headfirst into a bowl of nachos.

Maybe that was just me.

"Who do we know that's here?" Suey asked.

We rattled off four names and immediately ruled them out of the People-You-Know-Well-Enough-To-Force-Yourself-Into-Their-Sleeping-Arrangements contingency.

"Let's go to the car and start calling hotels," Erin said.

12:45

"Heyy! I'm calling to see if you have a vacancy for ton--"

"No, we're sorry but we're booked."

This is the conversation I had with all of the familiar hotel names/chains within a 20-mile radius. On to the "Valu-Sleeps" and the "Cheapy Sleep-Es." On the 3rd try ("Executive Hotel"), I finally got good news.

"Yup," a raspy voice confirmed. "We got say-veral vacancies tonight. I'll wait up on you!"

"Great!!" I said, flashing Erin and Susan a smile. "How much for one room?"

"Fifty-five dollars."

"WONDERFUL!!"

Wait a minute. Was it wonderful? I'm not an expert, but that seemed awfully cheap. And why did he say he was going to wait up on me? Don't most hotels have a 24-hour concierge? Whatevs. It was a place to sleep. We backed out of the Ronald McDonald House parking lot and proceeded to wait 45 minutes for a break in traffic to pull onto the strip.

1:45

A blinking sign flashes "Executive Hotel!" ahead. Home sweet home. But as soon as our headlights sweep the premises, our worst suspicions are confirmed. We have shown up at the skankiest roach motel Knoxville has to offer. You know the kind that I'm talking about; you've seen them in horror movies and dotting the side of the roads in the middle of nowhere. The kind with triangle-building lobbies that aren't attached to any of the rooms (so THAT's why phone guy had to "wait up" on us). "Susan! What would your MOM say??" We gather our belongings and make our way to the A-frame shack under the flickering glow of the street lamps.

1:46

Relief: Outside the door, a scarecrow sitting on a bale of hay and surrounded by various-sized gourds smiles welcomingly at us. Not scary at all. One of those personal touches that keeps you coming back.

Seized by panic again: Door is chained and locked. As is the other side door. The three of us nearly jump out of our skin when we hear a RAP-TAP-TAP! on the window. A man who we later refer to as "Meth Santa" beckons us toward him with his gnarly finger. His sallow skin is almost the exact same color as his white, stained beard that rests on the counter below him. His eyes are narrow slits nestled in the folds of his paper-thin eyelids. "Theeerrree you are!" he cackles, revealing a jumbled mess of caramel-tinted teeth. Through a series of convoluted hand signals, we gather that we are not to enter the building, but to communicate with him through the glass.

Susan and Erin look to me, silently electing me liaison. "Uh...hey there! Yes, we're here. Thanks for waiting on us!"

"You want one bed or two?"

"ONE, king-sized," I reply immediately as Susan simultaneously blurts, "Two." I turn over my shoulder to glare at her. I wasn't about to be the lone wolf in the bed by the door, no sir. If a rapist entered our room tonight, it was going to be equal opportunity, fair and square.

Meth Santa raises his bushy eyebrows. "Fer three of yous?"

"We're small."

He glances over us. "Awiueiuwh."

"Excuse me?" I say, leaning closer.

"And yer cute."

"Oh."

A wave of nausea sweeps over me as I take the key from under the glass.

"Jest drive up yonder, enter the doors and it'll be the third door on yer left. Sleep good!" He gives us a little wink. Was that a subtle threat? I decide quickly that the three of us could take him. I squint in the direction he pointed, seeing the dark outline of a building illuminated only by the light of a "Ye Olde Steakhouse" billboard. Sweet, breakfast.

1:52

We unlock the door and open it slowly, afraid of what we might see. Before our eyes adjust to the darkness, a wave of cigarette smoke hits us like a brick wall. We fumble for the light. It doesn't work. Feel my way to the bathroom, flick the bathroom's switch on. Dim light floods the doorway as the fluorescent bulbs hum their warning. "Weeeedddoooonnn'tttthhiiiinnnkkkyyouuuuwannnnttttooooseeeeeewhhhaaatttttweeeeeehaaavvvveeetshooowwwwyouuuuuu!"

The three of us stand silently in the doorway, bags in hand, cautiously surveying our arrangements/counting the potential places a dead body might be stowed. A coffee straw lies on the carpet, kept company by seven pieces of cat food. A suspicious brown splatter mark smiles up at us from the bathroom floor. "What!?" he asks innocently. "I'm just trying to distract you from the pubic hair in the sink!"

I immediately regret watching that "Hotel Insider" special on TLC where they showed the rooms under a blacklight, revealing massive amounts of semen on every surface.

1:50

Erin and I make our way up the the ice machine, where we see a fellow Alabamian about our age. "Are you as scared as we are right now?" Erin asks him.

"Yeah this place is...weird." he responds. "Found it on the internet before we got here, but it looks like we should have done better research. The cabbie refused to take us here. Had to walk part of the way."

1:54

With as much clothing on as possible for sanitary reasons, the three of us huddle together in bed, imagining Meth Santa watching us on his security cameras. He had probably seen us change and even had cameras in the shower. LIKE we were going to step foot in there! We discuss various escape routes, rape-protection skillz and items in our luggage that could double as weapons.

"Erin...did you put a rolling chair in front of the door?" I ask, laughing.

"At least we'll be able to hear the man when he comes," she whispers.

"Can we pray?" I ask.

"Dear Jesus, thank you for providing us with a place to lay our heads tonight, even if it is under mildewed ceiling tiles and in between soiled sheets. We pray that Meth Santa stays in his triangle building for the remainder of the night. Please let our car be there in the morning, and protect our purity from any rapists who might be wandering the premises. If it is Your will, keep us alive to see daybreak again. Give the rolling chair supernatural barricading properties, and don't let the bedbugs bite. We pray that we do not catch any diseases during our stay here, be it STDs or otherwise. Also, we're sorry that we're such spoiled brats. In Jesus' name we pray, amen."

9:13

I awake horrified to find that the covers have shifted during the night and my face is pressed against the bare mattress. Awesome.

Within minutes, I hear Susan and Erin rustling around beside me.

9:15

Erin: "LET'S GET THE F OUT OF HERE."

Time to bid farewell to the Executive Hotel. We jump out of our executive bed, tiptoe lightly over the executive catfood, get our stuff and slam the executive door. Goodbye and good riddance.

This is a very flattering picture.


I think the window adhesives really give it an executive flair, don't you?