Cold Fries

Even though I felt grateful, it wasn’t until she was halfway to the motel’s check-in lobby that I realized something.

How did she know I would be staying another night? Until yesterday, she commented only on it being my last night here.

“Hey, Tina, question!”

I yelled it loud enough to make her turn with a surprised look on her face.

Walking closer to her, I asked, “How did you know I was staying another night? I don’t recall telling you I needed another room for another night. The new room would have been useful last night.”

She shrugged and responded, “Well, now you’re in room 3. So it was a guess you’d be staying another night.”

I didn’t buy it. Tina, the motel lady, couldn’t hide the split second of panic, mainly because the look on her face, smeared blue eyeshadow and the dark circles under her eyes, said otherwise.

“Why’d you think I was staying another night? Did Sara call you?”

She shook her head, “I don’t know any Sara, but you are staying, right? And you have a ‘better’ room, right? So what does it matter?”

Ending the conversation, she turned away again, leaving me with an eerie feeling.

Once I watched her enter through the lobby doors, I went back to the room to get some of my stuff. Tina had to be lying, or she really did guess I was staying. Either way, I found it irritating, also.

I dragged my things to room 3, relieved that I was away from a crime scene, and unlocked the door. 

The room was a split image of room 7, other than the bathroom. With the smoke-stained grout and years of dust cemented into cracks and crevices, the bathroom was much more welcoming for some reason.

I left my stuff by the queen-sized bed and took the key to check out of the other room like Tina said.

When I walked in, Tina was on the phone behind the desk, whispering and standing in the furthest corner away.

Thinking she needed privacy because her back was to me, I grabbed some sludge-like coffee sitting on the little crate stand. Once I was done pouring it into the old styrofoam cups sitting out, I looked at the pinned-up corkboard I had never noticed before hanging above the coffee maker. 

Several advertisements for a farm hand, tractor repairs, and cattle auctions littered it. However, one thing did catch my eye. It was a recent newspaper clipping of Abby’s Second Hand & Foot Used Goods. 

It was in color, shocking, of a young woman standing in a storeroom full of furniture. The brief article mentioned used home goods, which I thought was perfect for what was to come with buying a home, a place to sit, eat and sleep occasionally. 

What caught my eye, however, was the smiling face standing next to an antique-looking table and chairs with a price tag displayed on them. The woman, Abby, looking cheerful, was very familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on where I had seen her before. Maybe the small supermarket? Definitely not the hotel.

Taking note of the address, it was on the main strip, so I was sure I’d passed by it yesterday.

Slamming the last few sips of the wholesome but awful-tasting coffee, I tossed my cup in the small trash and walked over to the desk.

 Dropping the key on the laminate covering of the check-in desk got Tina’s attention. She whispered into the phone, covering her mouth slightly with her hand before she hung up.

Turning to me, she asked, “How many nights are you staying now?”

I wanted to reply, “Why don’t you try retaking a guess?”

But I didn’t. Instead, I answered, “Not sure, maybe just tonight. It depends.”

She eyed me as a printer whirled and cranked out the paper receipt.

“Depends on what?”

She looked expectant, like I would just tell her, but I wasn’t keen on spreading my business, so I shrugged and said, “Depends on what it depends on.”

Setting the paper on the counter as she took the other room key, she stared, like she wanted to say something else. I just ignored her and grabbed the paper, and left. Other than people being pushy, them being nosey was another thing I never could stand for.

Once I was back in the room, I unpacked my laptop and plugged it in to charge. I was thinking of showering, I was about due for one, and now that I didn’t have anywhere immediate to be, I could take my time. If the paperwork at the local bank wouldn’t be ready until later, I also had time to come up with something to eat. 

The downfall of using an older shower is the little amount of pressure and the smell that reminds you of your grandmother’s bathroom in her cozy, overstuffed trailer. 

Once I was dressed again in jeans and a new flannel, I sat on the bed and heard the springs creak, letting me know I was in an outdated room. Grabbing my laptop, I logged in to my email and saw several littered my inbox. A few were from Eric regarding what he said on the phone about the early release, and then two from Lin at Dirt and Shore Realty.

One had paperwork regarding the title to the property and a few pdfs to fill out because of the closing cost being handled by the bank as well as the bank’s address. However, the other email I opened struck a chord with me.

“Thank you for choosing Dirt and Shore realty, where we make dreams come true! Unfortunately, our offices and staff will be unreachable for the next two weeks due to extenuating circumstances. We apologize for the inconvenience. Have a wonderful day!”

“Well shit, so much for questions.”

 Saying it out loud helped me control my frustration for the moment, but then Lin’s conversation from earlier about calling them with questions was just bullshit when I thought about it. What if I drove up and the house had been burnt down? Two weeks, unreachable? For fucks sake, who does that?

I sent back the filled-in p*f, but ironically there wasn’t a return email stating someone was unreachable. So, I guessed there had to be an individual directing mail. At least, that’s what I hoped.

I slammed the laptop shut, still peeved. Of course, it didn’t help that I was finally starting to feel hungry and that my sleep was disturbed throughout the night. 

Checking the time on my phone, I realized if I was going to grab something to eat, I had less than an hour to get to the bank.

After I was ready, I left the room and walked out into the gloomy afternoon. The smell of snow was already in the air. Fall was going quickly, and if I were to buy furniture for the place, I’d better hurry my ass up.

Driving down the main strip again from the motel, I realized it wasn’t easy to get lost. All the major appliance stores, repair shops, and touristy stores lined butted up to each other vying for room on the sidewalks. When I say touristy places, it’s more like overpriced goods and sites to eat for whatever cultural foods they serve. The ones where people were serving didn’t fit the setting.

I decided to swing through a fast-food joint, and seeing that there wasn’t a line, I felt some luck come my way.

I was wrong. I must have waited twenty minutes for a burger, fries, and soda before I was about to go in and ask them if they needed help slaughtering the cow. At the drive-thru window, I was met with another pimply-faced teenager. She looked way too young not to be in school, also. If I had more time, I probably would have interrogated her like the kid from the supermarket, but she was lucky I was pressed for time.

Finding the bank first, before I ate, was easy enough, it was only a block down the street, and the parking lot was almost empty. 

Once I parked the truck, I grabbed the food sitting on top of the other bags of crap in the passenger seat. I needed to clean out my truck. Having spent a few nights in the past sleeping in it before finding available hotels gave me bad habits.

Grabbing the fries, I shoved a few in my mouth and almost gagged. They were cold, stale, and had that metallic taste from waiting too long to be sold. 

Chucking them back into the paper bag, I grabbed my burger instead. Unwrapping it, I could tell I was about to meet another disappointment. The sesame seed-covered bun was dry and stale, and when I looked under it, fuck, mustard. I remembered asking for no mustard. Too bad I wasn’t a review advocate. Otherwise, I’d leave one saying thanks for adding to my shitty day.