ARTICLES
Below are two articles from Ed's Free Wheelin' column. If you are a publisher interested in Ed's work please contact Ed. If you are a casual reader please enjoy.How To Tell If It’s a Swell Motel!
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of traveling in connection with my writing. Why, the past three weekends alone I’ve driven to Sylva, North Carolina, Louisville, Kentucky, and Destin, Florida. Overall, I’m holding up reasonably well, except for the fact that my rear end is starting to closely resemble the upholstery pattern of my car seats. I’ve also learned that you don’t want to drink a twenty-four ounce Diet Mountain Dew in a plastic bottle just before you drive up to Atlanta. Doing that can give the term, “the Foggy Mountain Two Step,” a whole new meaning.
When you travel a lot it gives you the opportunity to stay in motels. Lots of motels. And I’m learning very quickly which ones are the good ones and which ones are the ones you need to avoid like a polecat. Believe me, even in this day in time there are as many fleabag motels as there are fire ants, and if you’re not careful you can easily find yourself in one. Like the one I found myself in recently where the showerhead was level with my chest. I honestly had to bend over so far to wash my hair that I felt like a human parentheses. Or the one that I stayed in a couple of months back that had a TV with maybe four viewable channels, and the remote had no batteries in it. Oddly enough, right there on the nightstand was a little sign telling you that they had batteries for sale in the lobby for only three dollars apiece. Doesn’t this sound like the sort of mega classy joint that you’ll remember fondly for years to come?
Because of experiences like that, I’m going to do a little public service article for y’all this week, and point out just what to do look for so that everyone can avoid all the fleabag and clip joint motels that are out there in travel land. Believe me, the landscape is dotted over with ‘em, and if I can save one person from an excruciating night in a true life Hades simulation, it will have been well worth it. Just consider the following:
1. If it costs less than thirty dollars a night for a room, avoid it like a beet casserole. Think about it - going to a movie nowadays costs maybe fifteen or twenty dollars for two people. Snacks like popcorn and cokes can easily double that cost. Altogether, a couple could very easily spend thirty dollars or so for a movie. Common sense tells me that any place that will let you stay overnight for less than it costs for two people to attend a movie has got to have something wrong with it. Maybe something major wrong with it, like a door that won’t lock, or towels that smell like a bass, or the whole place was built on top of an ancient cannibal burial ground, or maybe something even worse. Just a hunch, mind you, but less than thirty, it‘s gotta be dirty. Go find another one.
2. If a motel deliberately misspells its name, avoid it like a cash strapped relative. Y’all know the types I’m talkin’ about - motels that have names like, “Thriftee Inn, “Sleepee Inn” or “Holliday’s Inn,“ or something else disgustingly similar. The folks running those joints want you to think they’re one thing, but, when you lay down and find that Mr. Cockroach and his family are in bed with you, it‘s too late. Hard to sleep when you’re perched up on top of a nightstand for the rest of the evening.
3. If the lady at the front desk mentions that she does modeling or artistic type dancing, sidetrack her by telling her how you’re just recovering from a terrible bout of the flu, complete with a week or more of one hundred degree plus temperatures and a stomach so tender that you couldn’t even hold down a glass of water. If this doesn’t deter her, and she goes on to mention her special hourly rates for dancing sessions conducted in the privacy of your room, tell her whatever lies you need to tell on yourself in order to extricate yourself from the situation. Don‘t be proud, put your masculinity into play, act like you‘re in some cult-like religious situation, do whatever‘s necessary. Believe me, you’ll be very glad you called a time out on your pride later on.
4. Watch out if a “pay per the hour” option is offered. No need to say a whole lot more about this, but if you still go ahead and book one of these joints you’ll find that the bed in the room is in real bad shape, but the furniture is in near perfect condition. Go figure.
5. If you ask about area restaurants, and the clerk only gives you the location of the motel’s vending machines, ask for your money back and leave. If they won’t give you a refund, still get in your car and go. And don’t look back, in fact, don’t even think about looking back.
6. If the place offers adult movies on their TVs, and you decide to watch one and it seems like the action is occurring in a room that looks a whole lot like yours, consider writing off the rest of the evening, packing up, and quickly riding on down the road. If you don’t, not only might you become an accidental adult film star, but you might also discover that some of these “reality based” adult films feature three bag haints (Juliette, Georgia-ese for super ugly people) that not only shouldn’t be filmed, but probably shouldn’t even be allowed outdoors in the daylight. Just my opinion, though.
And there you have it. Practical guidelines for keeping a fleabag joint out of your moteling future. I’d write some more, but I’m doing this on a laptop computer out on the road, and this motel I’m staying in is charging me a dollar a minute for electricity, the TV has a coin slot in it, and don‘t even ask me about the eight dollar per roll surcharge on the toilet paper...
Dad, I Can‘t Understand Women
I guess I should’ve figured something like this would happen one day. My son Will, who has just turned sixteen, is now dating, and was out on one this past Saturday night. I happened to be sitting in the den watching one of those high speed cop chase TV shows when he returned home from said date. He walked in, nodded, and then looked at me somewhat seriously and said,
“Dad, I need to ask you something. Tonight I took Candi to the movies, and I even let her pick out the movie. I bought our tickets and I even bought her some refreshments before we went into the theatre, even though I’ll be broke for the next two weeks. I did all that, and then when we sat down in our seats she looked over at me and asked if I liked her blouse? Dad, between us, it was this weird sort of orange looking deal, in fact, it looked just like someone had rubbed red clay all over it. I thought I’d at least be polite, so I told her that I liked it okay. She looked at me and said, “Just okay?” I agreed again that I liked it okay. Dad, she didn’t hardly even speak to me for the rest of the evening.”
After a moment of meditative silence, Will asked, “Dad, do you understand women? What should I have done instead?”
God.
I cleared my throat for a good twenty seconds, stalled for some more time by picking a little lint off my socks, and then told Will that women were God’s greatest creation and that we should love, honor, and respect each and every one of them. I then added that a ton of great things like inventions and medical cures have come from women. I even went on to remind him that his mother was a woman, and we all know how guys feel about their mothers. But, even after all that, I broke down and confessed the following to Will, “Son, I will never understand women. You will never understand women. Albert Einstein didn’t understand women. Hell, even Ed Jr. doesn’t even understand women!” We both paused at that point because we realized that this was as about as high up as we could go. I thought for a bit, then said, “Son, we’ll never understand women, but I can help you out with your second question about what you should have done instead.”
Will listened as I continued, “Son, the first mistake you made was even commenting on her clothes in the first place. Never tell a woman what you really think about her clothes. If she covers her body from head to toe in burlap bags and ties a snake around her waist, tell her that it’s the most stylish outfit that you’ve ever seen. And leave it at that. Talking to women about their clothes is like talking to them about their relatives - no possible good can come from it.”
Will nodded, and I continued, “The second mistake you made was buying her a bunch of stuff to eat at the movies on the front end. If this was your first date with her you had no idea as to how things would go. The best thing would’ve been to take her into the theatre, see how things progressed for an hour or so, and then make the decision as to whether or not you want to blow fifteen or twenty bucks on refreshments. If things go well, that’s great, spend the dough with a big smile on your face. If they don‘t, well, as soon as the movie is over tell her that you think you’re starting to get an intestinal bug and that you need to get her home really fast. Then, rush her on home, say goodbye quickly and leave, and then stop off at Nu-Way on your way back for a couple of tasty all-the-way dogs.”
Will nodded respectfully at all that, then asked, “So Dad, what you’re telling me is that dating women is sort of like the stock market, that you shouldn’t invest until you know more about the company‘s performance?”
I sagely replied as follows, “Son, I see it more like this. Dating is sort of like a war, you don’t want to oversupply the front until you’ve seen that you’ve made some reasonable advances....”