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 Late last evening I left the town of Bronwell Corners. I'm on a work-related trip. My employer has deep pockets, but he's not spending any of his money on high-priced hotel rooms. Instead I've got the luxury suite beside the parking lot and across from the dirty pool. I've got a Mr. Coffee machine on the desk where I'm now writing this note to you. If I were a kid, I'd have a cheap beer beside me, but I'm no kid, and I don't drink beer -- cheap or otherwise -- so I've got a plastic bottle of water on the night stand. I bought this fine water at a grocery store down the block. The store signs claim that every item in the place is healthy, organic, feminist, liberal, made from soy or one of its by-products, guaranteed to make you go to the bathroom someday soon, and expensive. I can vouch for the parts about expensive and going to the bathroom. It's good water. When I'm finished writing and uploading this story to the SpilledBeans.com web site, I'll reward myself by eating one of the fine, organic bananas I purchased along with the bottle of water. The bananas are covered with liver spots, so I know they're old, and I suspect that they too will help me go to the bathroom. This is good, because I'm almost always irregular when I take work trips. I prefer my own toilet. Nothing else feels quite the same.Paul Simon is next door strumming his acoustic guitar and singing an ode to this motel, and yes I can make out every word. He sounds better than the two old men wearing Bermuda shorts who are yelling late-night dinner plans back and forth across the alley. Please notice the good bad art on the wall above the bed. Next allow your gaze to swoop gently downward toward the bed. Isn't that just too coordinated and oh so sweet? Much like my personality and my writing. I just love having flowers all around me. They make me feel like springtime. The lamp on the night stand has one of those clever switches on its base, clever because in the morning, when it's still dark in here, I have to fiddle a bit before I can find the damned switch. This exercise in eye-hand coordination helps put me in my usual good mood. No matter my mood, the flowered bedspread, the expensive water and the strange toilet; I still got up this morning at 4:30 and ran four miles. Of course I forgot my alarm clock when I left the mansion last evening, so I began waking up this morning at 2:10 AM. I could not find the lamp switch, so I tucked my wristwatch under the bottom edge of the plastic draperies and read its hands by the light of a stormy moon. I fell back to sleep and rose again three more times, each time repeating the wristwatch and draperies routine, until finally time reached out and told me to get the hell out of bed. All this sound sleep added wonderfully to my positive state of mind. I love cheap motel rooms. My run felt good, very good. Fog floated like clouds and got caught in the trees, and then the trees rained bottled water on top of my fuzzy head. I opened my mouth and breathed fresh air for the first time in eight hours. I ran along a wide main avenue, down a steep hill and toward the cliff's edge. I turned around before falling off the cliff and into Lucinda's arms. I ran up the same steep hill, along the same wide avenue in reverse, and stopped when I reached this fine motel establishment. The custodian was kind enough to say good morning and not ask me why the hell I was running in the dark when everyone else was still asleep. The coffee here is a mortal sin. Were I at home I'd call the boys and tell them to come shut down this joint's kitchen. But I'm not at home, and I wouldn't expect the boys to make such a long trip just to rough up a bad chef, so instead I showered, shaved and headed for the exciting work conference I must attend for the rest of this week. I love work conferences almost as much as I love strange toilets and bottled water. ****** Thanks for stopping by to visit us here at SpilledBeans.com. If you'd like to be notified whenever something new is posted to SpilledBeans.com, then please join the Spilled Beans notification list. -- Con affetto, Anthony V. Toscano, Editor SpilledBeans.com  |
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