Room 103 will go down in infamy.
My story starts a long time ago. OK, it starts yesterday. It feels longer - whatever. I got to DFW later then recommended and was, actually, glad to hear that my flight was delayed. (this meant that they would let me on it) Apparently, the North East has been pounded by storms and severe weather. They have had a lot of rain. The ground is so water logged that trees are falling over and knocking down power lines. It’s not pretty.
Today was a normal day at work. I got pushed over the limit, cursed out the customer, and simultaneously bonded with him, before actually accomplishing anything. People talk differently north of the Masson Dickson line. It scares me how well I fit in.
After getting back to my room and working for a few more hours, I decided that I needed to get seriously drunk. I thought long and hard about driving. My hotel is out of the way, and the nearest restaurant is just over a mile away. I asked the lady at the desk where the nearest place to get food and beer was. She explained that it is just up the road. I asked her if it was “stumbling distance.” She chuckled, confused, and told me that it was too long to walk, but if I headed down the highway, I would see it.
I finally decided to do the right thing. I need the exercises, so I chose to walk. I hugged myself and marched into the freezing wind. The day I need more then a DARE t-shirt to protect me from the elements, is the day I stop living. The road leading away from my hotel double backed on its self as it snaked up the hill. I thought about forsaking the highway and climbing straight up the hill, but the path was too muddy and overgrown with thorns.
A mile and a half later, I came across “UNO’s Chicago style Pizzeria and Pub.” It was awesome. I sat at the bar and drank 9 pints of Yuengling Lager. As the patrons came and went, our conversation went from the VA Tech shooting, to feminism, to Christianity, to beer, to music, to business, to property, and, then to cars. I knew I reached a new, higher plane of consciousness when I shocked the bar with my revelation that, if everyone who listened to AFI and Justin Timberlake had, instead, listened to Dragon Force, the tragedy in Virginia would have been averted. (ask me about it later, it’s true)
Once happy hour was over, I prepared for my trek back to the hotel. The wind’s bite had lost its sting. I knew that I was the King of England. When I came to the hill that bested me earlier, I knew what had to be done. Departing from the paved path, I stomped down, though the mud and thickets. Multiple choice, pick one:
A) I underestimated the rain, and the ground was less sound then I realized.
B) The brush was thicker then it looked.
C) I was drunker then I though.
D) All of the above.
When the world stopped spinning I got to my feet and marched into the hotel. Covered in mud and weeds, I demanded a wake up call at 6:45. I know the lady at the front desk remembered me from our earlier conversation, but she would not look at me. I got into my room and decided to title this post, “I’m naked.” I am naked. The first thing I did in my room was strip and jump in the shower. I then, immediately, hopped into bed and started typing. One sentence into my post, I forgot what my room number was, so I got up, opened the door and looked. Apparently you are supposed to put your cloths on before stepping into the hall. The neighbors were not impressed.
And this, my children, is the story of why this post is titled “Room 103 will go down in infamy” and not “I’m naked.”
