RRI Part Deux

So where was I? Oh yes, checking in at the Red Roof In (RRI) in Plano, Texas. After my lovely encounter with the check in lady, it was off to my room. Before I could enter the room, of course I needed to use my key. And this wasn't just any key. No, this key was half old school key and half keycard. See, the part you grip is like a house key, but at the end, it looks like some type of '70s transistor. You simply insert the transistor part in the door, wait for it to make a sound like a prison door is opening, then turn the knob. Yes, there was a knob to be turned.

After breaking into Alcatraz and opening the door, I was greeted by the welcoming aroma of vanilla and death. See, to cover the stench of the murder that must have been committed in the room, the fine folks at RRI installed a Glade Plug-In. To be more exact, they used the generic equivalent. Unfortunately, it didn't mask the foul stench, just complimented it. But hey, it's only home for one night, so what the hey.

The I turned on the lights. The decor was pleasing enough. If I had to guess where they got their styling inspiration, it would be Moscow, 1983. A bed, a table, a chair and the finest dresser and television Mother Russia had to offer. But the carpet, now that's where the real style was.

May as well have called the place the Red Carpet Inn, since that was the shade of the industrial grade floor covering. It was red all over save for the one big white stain by the dresser. it had an odd look, as though maybe the room had been used for "filming." Not sure what it was, but I'm operating under the theory that someone had a mishap and spilled some glue. That's what I choose to believe anyway. Unfortunately, they also spilled "glue" on the toilet seat.

Suffice to say the place was a disaster, but it's amazing what you can will yourself to do when you need some sleep.

I did manage to make it through the night, and I even used the "envelope o' shampoo" to clean up in the morning. I counted my blessings and checked out. I did keep the key however, as I needed I memento of the night a little piece of me died.

One of the benefits of working for a first-class organization is the ability to travel the globe on a whim and to enjoy only the finest accommodations. Of course I wouldn't know that personally, but according to some friends, that's the case. When I travel for business, the budget is tight enough to make a shoestring snap. The following tale is from my latest trip. Only the names and places have been changed to protect my dignity.

A co-worker and I arrived in a city that I'll call "Dallas" safely enough. From the terminal we were off to the rental car area where our chariot was waiting. Renting a car for the lowest price is a lot like Russian Roulette without the opportunity to get lucky and end your suffering. But the rental gods smiled upon us as we were paired with a canary yellow Chevy Cobalt. Note to GM: I know why you're going bankrupt!

I spooled up the peppy little four banger and we were off and running, which in theory would have been quicker.

I'd spend time commenting on dinner, but suffice to say, when you have a $14 dinner per-diem, what's really to be said? Met a couple of new people and enjoying good conversation, so overall it was a pretty relax time, and I wasn't starving when done.

One quick note, apparently in Texas, there is an indigenous bird called the Grackle. It's large, black, has beady eyes and a shriek that reminds me of an old girlfriend. I hate those aptly-named creatures.

Next stop, about 20 miles away in Plano. Only 20 miles turned into 25 miles thanks to the HOV lane. HOV lanes, for those not familiar, are the same as a carpool lane. What a great invention. Even in a Cobalt, you can whiz by traffic and laugh heartily at the people crawling along in the other lanes. Only problem with this maneuver was the exit I needed just so happened to be boarded up. There was no warning, just a closed exit especially for people in the HOV lane. So we continued on down the road to turn around and try again.

Successfully on our way to Plano now, it was time to turn our attention to the hotel we had reserved, namely directions to the fine establishment. It's never a good sign when you call for directions and the recording says "The directions to the hotel have changed." What, did it up and move???? We should have taken that as a sign, but no, not us. On we motored until we got to the end of the rainbow.

All you need to know about the hotel can be summed up in three words: Red Roof Inn. Of course, those of us in the business know it simply as RRI. Getting out of the car in the unlit parking lot had sort of an Overlook Hotel (from The Shining) meets abandoned crack house feel to it. Let's call it rustic charm.

Sliding or even revolving doors were not yet in fashion when our RRI was built, so doors were opened, bags were wrestled in and the smell of institutional disinfectant was noted. Check-in was fairly routine with the exception of two exchanges. First, as I have not yet been issued a new company credit card, I procured the two rooms with my personal card. Just so happens my person card also happens to be a Marriott Rewards card. Well, that wasn't getting past the watchful eye of the receptionist. She had her line ready to go - "Marriott huh, you should have stayed there." Obviously, she was proud to be part of the RRI Welcome Wagon. But she did add, "But you are saving money by staying here." Yes, yes we are, and losing self-respect while we're at it.

The receptionist also noted one room had two beds and one was a single, pointing out there was only one single available. My companion took one look at my girth as opposed to her and came to the logical conclusion that I should take the single room, as the bed would be larger. Oh, that crazy logic! The receptionist says to me, she says, "No, it's the same size bed, there's just one, would you like me to put you in a king room?" Uh, yeah that would be great, but just moments earlier, she told us there was only one single room available. Hmmm, better off not questioning that one. "Nope, what you've given us will be fine," was the best I could muster. Little did I know how wrong I was.

From there it was off to our rooms, but like an episode of Batman, or when "The Fonz" tried to jump the shark, you'll have to tune back in tomorrow to hear the rest of the story. But as a little tease, I'll give you one word that will play a significant role in tomorrow's installment - glue.

And so it begins.....

As with most things in life, I am late to the blog game. Nothing like leaping on he cliche train at the caboose. But I'm here now, so perhaps it's best that I dispense with the pleasantries and lay down the ground rules:

1. While I will use spell check, mistakes will happen. That's why we have Paula Abdul and defense attorneys.

2. Proper grammar ain't all it's cracked up to be.

3. I am not, I repeat, AM NOT politically correct. If you don't like what you see here, get the funk out. That's why your browser has a back button.

4. AP Style is not welcome in this corner of the blogosphere. I'm a team player and use it professionally, but this is my house, my rules. So please remember, I live in AR, not Ark., because if you think AR is Alaska, you're just the kind of person this blog is created to mock and torment.

5. Nothing I say here should be taken seriously, unless I say so. Seriously.

6. I use too many commas. Get used to it, please.

7. I'm not here to amuse you, I'm here for therapy. If you're amused as a byproduct, great. If not, you just didn't get it.

8. The "old guy" is dead. This is an inside joke. If you get it, you're either laughing or plotting my demise.

9. If you think the "old guy" is alive, you are a sad human being and should move out of your parent's basement and get a life.

10. Words are the seasoning of language. There are times I will spice liberally.

So there you have it. That's the de-facto mission statement for my blog. Mission statements are the tools of people who need to justify their existence. Consider my existence justified.

And now, a couple of miscellaneous ramblings and nuggets of bitterness. Enjoy.

The devil created cilantro to give us a "little taste of hell."

My dog craps on the floor out of spite. He knows I'm jealous.

I'll be back tomorrow with a full-length tale of woe from the day that was.