Q-tip

 

It was the end of January this past winter, and Scott and I, along with the two doggies, were heading north.  We had been in our favorite little beach town, renting an apartment from friends, and were now driving north to the border.  It was a three-day drive to reach the border, and we were embarking on Day One.  I had looked at the map a few days before and picked a town on the toll road that was roughly nine hours north of our beach town.     

We drove and drove, stopped to let the dogs out, stopped to stretch our legs, stopped to get food and water and gas.  Finally, after a long, hot day in the car, we reached our destination for the evening.  A good friend of mine had driven through Mexico a few years ago, also with dogs, and recommended a hotel in this particular town.  Not knowing where else to go or wanting to drive around looking for accommodations, Scott and I eagerly took the recommendation.  

We found the hotel perched on a hill.  We pulled into the tight, gated parking lot, and Scott took the dogs out while I approached the desk and asked about availability.  The hotel had a few rooms open, so I paid for one of them, got the key, and motioned for Scott to meet me at the door to our room.  

When I opened the door, both our faces fell.  The room was...rustic.  The bed frames appeared to have been built in 1827, with the mattresses made shortly thereafter.  The blankets smelled moldy.  There was no cover on the shower drain, so the entire room smelled like sewage.  I walked into the bathroom, my nose wrinkled.  There was an SOS-pad-sized glob of black hair in the corner of the shower.

"Yuck," I said as I left the bathroom.

"Did you see that?" Scott asked, pointing to the floor.  There lay a dirty Q-tip, staring up at us like a cotton-covered cockroach.

"Ick," I muttered.  I looked at Scott.  He looked at me.  We were both thinking the same thing.  We were tired, we were hungry, and the dogs were done riding in the car for the day.  And, sadly, we had stayed in worse places.  

Scott pulled back one of the blankets to reveal the sheets.  They looked old but clean.  Our eyes met again.

"I already paid," I said weakly.

"Yeah, fuck it.  We're here," Scott shrugged, then went to the car to grab our bags.  

We got dinner at a nearby restaurant, took a dog walk around town, and turned in for the night.  We both slept fully clothed in long pants and sweatshirts with the hoods pulled up over our heads.  

The next morning, we were up early and took the dogs out to do their business.  It was still dark as we closed the room door behind us.  We did a quick walk around the parking lot, then went back to the room.  I tried the key.  Nothing.  I waved the key in front of the lock again.  Nothing.  Not even a red light.  No light at all.  The lock was dead.  We were locked out of our room.  

"This fucking place," Scott muttered.

"I hope there's someone at the front desk," I said as I headed in that direction.  

Thankfully, a nice young man was behind the counter.  I explained as best I could.  He gave me a new key to try, and I walked back to our door.  

"Let's hope this one works," I said as I waved the new key in front of the lock.  Nope.  Dead.  Nothing.  Not even a red light.  

"The lock is dead," Scott said.  

"Yeah," I agreed, as I headed back to the front desk.

Once again, I explained to the nice man behind the counter.  He reluctantly stood up and followed me to the room.  He tried the new key.  He tried the old key.  He jiggled the door handle.  He tapped on the lock.  He tried the new key again, then the old key, then another jiggle of the handle, and more tapping.  He scratched his head, shook his head, tapped, and jiggled more.  

Finally, he looked at us.  In broken English, he said, "We break in."

"Okay," Scott said, nodding.

I shrugged, curious how this was going to work.

We watched as the nice man tried opening the window.  He pushed and pushed, trying to get some leverage on the glass to slide the window open.  Nothing.  It wouldn't budge.  He tried the other side, again pushing and pushing, trying to move the window.  This time, the window slid a tiny bit.  It opened just enough for him to reach around the edge of it, grab it with both hands, and lift it off the frame.  

"Yeah!" I exclaimed.  

"Muy bueno!" Scott said as he slapped the man on the back.

The nice man climbed through the window, walked to the door, and opened it for us.  

"Muchas gracias, Señor," I said as Scott and I walked into the room.  

The nice man nodded and smiled, then made his way back to the desk.

Scott and I looked at each other and laughed.  

As we started packing up to leave, Scott laughed again.  "Tell your friend this place sucks."