Getting Motel 6'ed

We do the same sort of thing every damn time we leave for vacation.  It’s a nod towards budgeting on an otherwise expensive expedition.  And so every trip starts by taking it south no matter the actual compass direction.  It’s become a sorry vacation tradition to use Motel 6 as a sort of staging area, and every time we do it we swear it will be our last.

On one driving trip to San Diego we stopped at Motel 6 in Santa Maria.  We left feeling itchy and crawly – ugh.  Last year it was a driving trip to Oregon and we stopped in Weed, near the northern border of California and used Motel 6 as a way station on the way to the rest of the journey.  It wasn't horrible but we started to discover that Motel 6 isn't the bargain that their long time shill, Tom Bodett would have us believe.  

This year we've taken a trip to Washington DC and Virginia and our flight out left from San Francisco International.  I’m not sure why but SFO has a bad reputation in the SF Bay Area – at least in our part of the Bay Area.  The flights are always delayed, it’s hard to get around, security takes forever and blah, blah, blah.  We don’t fly often so we feared the worst and decided to give ourselves a jump start by staying on the same side of the bay as the airport.

Missing a flight is a paranoia that I have.  It isn't like missing an exit on the freeway.  It’s a mistake not easily undone.  So when there’s a bridge between home and the airport the paranoia is heightened.  If a gravel truck over turns on the bridge or a pair of shock jocks pull a galactically stupid prank that shuts down the span, you’re screwed.  Oh there are alternatives; none attractive and all guaranteed to raise anxiety and blood pressure. 

“Let’s stay at Motel 6 in Belmont,” I told the wife.  “It’s only a few miles south of the airport and we don’t need to worry about the bridge. We don’t have to get up so early either – maybe 4:15”  Instead of slapping me across the face she agreed, even if she did question the 85 dollar rate.  I pointed out that it is 50 miles from San Francisco.

On the way to Belmont I entered Motel 6 into the GPS and it gave me alternatives all over the country but not the one we wanted.  Should have seen it as an omen – like that squealing sound effect music just before the slasher plunges the kitchen knife. 

It’s the biggest damn Motel 6 I've ever seen, sitting in the shadow of a tall beer can shaped Oracle building; maybe executives stay here, I thought.  And maybe as Mike Myers once said, “Monkeys might fly out my butt.”  A bored, sleepy fellow took my money, handed me the keycard to room 353, gave me directions and told me it was on the third floor.  Good deal I thought, nobody walking on our ceiling – nice and quiet.  “And monkeys might…” 

The elevator was decorated with modern, urban art; aka graffiti, complete with obscenities.  It dumped us into a corridor that seemed like a portal into all of the splendor that marks, oh, North Korea or East Germany.  We got into our room and the door closer apparently set to max slammed the heavy metal door behind us with a sound that was reminiscent of a dungeon.

“What a dump,” I told the wife.  The word “plain” couldn't even come close to describing our cell.  I peeked into the bathroom expecting to see a bucket. I looked at the bed and had second, third and fourth thoughts.  Would I get up in the morning and take a small army of multi-legged invisible creatures with me to DC?  My skin crawled.  I tried the TV and and found that the picture was in HD - Hardly Discernible.  It had all the clarity of a set from 1955.

“Let’s just go to bed.  We have to get up early anyway.”

Remember that notion that I had about a nice quiet, third floor room?  Turns out that every room in that house of the damned is fitted with the same big door and super powered door closer.  Guests came and went from their rooms the whole fucking night and every time that a door was opened it had to close and it did so with that metallic clang that detonated through the entire building.  When the sounds of banging doors didn't fill the hall, I could hear the folks in the next room through the paper thin walls.  Oh please God don’t let them copulate tonight.  They didn't and let’s face it, who in the hell would want to be nekkid in these beds.  I myself was wishing that I’d brought a full body condom. 

After a night of salvos from the slamming doors I turned to Cora and saw that she was wide awake.  I flicked the backlight on my watch; 3:20 in the AM.  “Fuck it; let’s just get up and go to the airport.” We grabbed our bags, splashed some cold water on our faces and eased the heavy door shut.

I’d like to say that we've learned our Motel 6 lesson but I’m certain that next summer when our vacation plans are just about complete, I’ll look up from a stack of brochures and say, “The first night’s just on the way.  We can stay at Motel 6."  And if she has any sense she'll give me a quick knee to the groin.