2Jesse James got away with it for awhile. Captain Kidd did, too. Hell, even Lizzy Borden. . .they couldn't prove her guilty, right? So why is it so hard for a simple person like me to head over to Pennsylvania who never did anything wrong? It wasn't like I was robbing or slaughtering anyone. No. Somehow taking a week vacation from life has to be difficult. That's why we take the vacations, after all, right? Make the process difficult so we have to take them anyways! Jesus, it's just easier to stay home nowadays. . .not like I wanted to head over to Pittsburgh.
Okay, so maybe I did. A little part of me actually wanted to go down there. Sue me. It's been awhile since I've seen my friend who wanted to see me, and yes they wanted to see me, so you know how it goes. Living up in Vermont with my own little life of teaching English in some high school was a hell of a long way from banking. A long way. The numbers and. . .the impatient people and the. . .numbers. . .
On the better side of things, it was summer. At least for awhile I was a grown adult stuck at my house constantly for two months straight. Hey, the job might not hand out large amounts of money but you do get your summer vacation. You know, the one you would probably sell your soul for when you're stuck in the big office in the middle of August. Yeah, I thought so.
It shouldn't have been hard. No, it should have been easy. Fucking easy but somehow In 'The Land of the Living,' things have to be challenging. That's how it is. That's how it always is. So was it my fault that I was pissed? Was it my fault?
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it says you haven't booked a reservation."
"You. . .you have to be kidding. I've made these reservations for, what? Two weeks ago! Three at the least! I. . .I. Trust me. I wouldn't lie to you. I booked this! I seriously did. I. . .I did."
Staring gradually with a bit of a deep, frustrated stare, I wiped my cheek softly with my fingertips and murmured under my breath. I stood in the middle of a hotel lobby and of all places in the world, that was the last place I wanted to be in. Just what I needed was hotel clerk telling me she didn't get my booking and listening to some CNN clap-traps babbling on and on about some nut who couldn't keep his hands to himself on the T.V. in the waiting room. Yeah, lets argue about that, dumbass.
"What did you say your name was?" The hotel clerk replied in a dull voice. Apparently she was bored with my game. Like anyone would come to this shithole, anyways.
"Erm, Susie Meritt..." I managed to mumble out blankly as I began to rest my elbow on the counter and glare up lightly. Taking in a deep breath, I tried being patient. Tried is the keyword as I am not a very patient woman. With etchy eyes, my head managed to turn over to the walls.
Ugh. Place was falling apart. Nice furnature, sure, but the wallpaper was yellow as far as I could tell. Escaping the blazing fluorescent lights and you got yourself Bates Hotel. Even the lady behind this counter could play the skeleton if, you know, she had more hair.
"No, Ms. Meritt we have no record for you. You ha-"
"You know what?" I managed to call out with a sarcastic grin and brightened eyes. I slammed my hand down on the counter with a quick tap and leaned in only to speak in a slight aggravated whisper just to make sure she was listening.
"I'll just. . .get a room here. Not the suite I reservered, just a plain room. How's that sound? Can you do me that one favor? Just that, please?"
Christ.
"All right, we can do that for you. I'm sorry about your reservation. I suppose you assumed you've made it. Really. If we would have received any of your calls, we would have kept the room for you."
Bitch.
"Well, I certaintly know you would. Now. As long as you can direct me to the room which I am staying in, I'll be eternally in your debt."
"Wait, Ms. Meritt! First, I'll be needing your credit card!"
And just when I was about to leave. Damn. With another false grin and an even faker laugh, I gritted my teeth and widened my eyes. All I could do was grasp my credit card and nearly fling it at her. Didn't take long, of course, afterwards. Name. How long I was staying. Telephone number if I decide to trash the place. You know. Basic fun roll call.
After receiving my keycard to my room, I swallowed out a throated 'thank you' and tried to escape the office. No more information, no more 'hold-on-there-for-a-second's, no. . .'holy shit your room is flooded!' conversations. I wanted out. The drive was rough enough and somehow, by chance, I managed to stop. Had to stop.
Had to.
Lying in the corner on a table was a few brochures. A whole thick of them up in a box and they just so happened to punch me in the eyes. It was funny how even the most unacceptable crap can interest us. A few pictures of the sights here; maybe a coal museum or an art gallery can interest anyone and I mean not to say the term 'interest' loosely.
"Something wrong, ma'am?"
Apparently my little friend from behind the counter still existed and here I was hovering over a pile of second-rate packets that had no interest to anyone. An entire pile untouched.
"No, no, everything's. . .all right!" I called out as I turned my head and flashed an almost sincere smile. With that I plunged my head back to the contents of the table. Without even asking, I plucked about two, seven, say, almost twelve of those brochures into my right hand and with that I decided to make my exit. Dashing out of the hotel lobby was enough for me to breathe a sigh of relief as I felt the cold rainy air of Pittsburgh hit me.
- - -
"Jesus Christ. . ."
After finally managing to open my room, a smell of death hit me at once. Of course, I imagined it would. The ' Friendly Cottage' hotel chain was imfamous for their exaggerated tales from other customers around the nation. The most popular seemed to be the story of someone finding a dead body in the box springs of the bed. . .three days after the person was murdered. I don't know about you but that was pretty sick at first hearing that in the newspaper.
Flickering the lights on in the room only raised my suspicion. Like something straight out of a 70s hell, the room looked atrocious. Forest green bedding with matching stripes on the peach carpeting halfway in the room; the other half wooden hardfloors. There wasn't even a table lamp. Just this swinging one on the roof.
I didn't even want to see what happy surprises lurked in the bathroom for me.
"Jesus. . ." I murmured the Lord's name again in a flustered mouth as I tossed my brochures to a small table in the corner, which luckily, thank God, existed. I flipped off my sneakers and trudged through the room, ready to inspect the rest of the place.
Not much of a place.
At least it had a huge mirror in the bathroom and staring at me was. . .me. A sullen, perhaps and probably, frightening me. I was rather strange today. Normally I would wear "nice" clothes that other city people would normally wear. My job forced me to anyways and I enjoyed looking good. Not today, though. Hell, not even on this vacation.
My caramel floppy, stringy hair was pulled back in a ponytail with strands of it hanging on my cheeks and eyes. I wore makeup but very little of it; only mascura and lipgloss. With a gray tanktop under a baggy flannel-plaid shirt of red and baggy jeans that hid my small legs and socks, I looked horrible. I even topped my assemble off with my thin glasses that perched on my nose despite the fact I wore contacts most of the time. Carrying contact solution was a bitch on vacations so I figured I'd rather be undesirable than nervous.
With bit of a growl to my reflection, I tilted my head oh-so-slightly into th-
Oh, God.
Even the bathroom was even more unacceptable from my original thoughts.
Backing up and collasping on to the bed, I felt my body sink into the comforter. I even buzzed in a bitter voice to my old pal.
"Thank you, Teresa Bray. . .for the lovely room suggestions."
Running my left arm under my head, I stared up at the ceiling with an empty expression on my face. All I had in the room was myself, those stolen packets, and. . .hell, my luggage was still in my car! Fuck. I didn't even feel like getting up. With a slow yawn of protest, I turned to my side and closed my eyes for rest.