I do not like hotels
When I was a lad, it was all about getting dad to phone room service and order up club sandwiches. And there was the swimming pool. I'd stay in the pool until my skin shriveled to cracked leather.
When I got a little older and started bopping solo around the globe, it was more about hookers. Not that I actively sought them out. But when you're a feller on your own checking into a hotel in Delhi or Colombo or Manama or Prague, you don't have to seek them out. They rap on your door. And what was I supposed to say? "No, I do not want to see your early twenty-something butt in my bed for only twenty bucks, now go away; CNN World Report is coming on."
These days, cheap hookers are in my top five reasons why I don't like to stay in hotels. Woody Allen once remarked that "sex without love is a meaningless experience, but as meaningless experiences go, it's one of the best."
Depends. A fabled zipless encounter on a trans-Atlantic flight? Maybe. That classy rinsed out blonde at the end of the bar whose eyes locked with yours across a crowded room? Only in dreams.
But it is not a pleasant experience when you purchase it. And not when you have a daughter in her early twenties. And not when you think that in the wallet in the purse of your hired tryst there might be photos of her twins (whose Dad skipped out on them before they could crawl and whose Grandma might by on a dialysis machine). Not when you notice scars across their wrists.
Expensive hookers, well, they're not really hookers. They're escorts. And since they're priced way out of my league, there's no need to go there.
So, anyway, nowadays, I endure hotels. I'm staying in one until my accommodations on campus are ready. The bellman did ask if I needed anything--anything--and I said yeah, ok--indicating by my tone that I will hold his offer in abeyance.
The mini-fridge has orange Fantas and I get Star movies. What else would I need?
When I got a little older and started bopping solo around the globe, it was more about hookers. Not that I actively sought them out. But when you're a feller on your own checking into a hotel in Delhi or Colombo or Manama or Prague, you don't have to seek them out. They rap on your door. And what was I supposed to say? "No, I do not want to see your early twenty-something butt in my bed for only twenty bucks, now go away; CNN World Report is coming on."
These days, cheap hookers are in my top five reasons why I don't like to stay in hotels. Woody Allen once remarked that "sex without love is a meaningless experience, but as meaningless experiences go, it's one of the best."
Depends. A fabled zipless encounter on a trans-Atlantic flight? Maybe. That classy rinsed out blonde at the end of the bar whose eyes locked with yours across a crowded room? Only in dreams.
But it is not a pleasant experience when you purchase it. And not when you have a daughter in her early twenties. And not when you think that in the wallet in the purse of your hired tryst there might be photos of her twins (whose Dad skipped out on them before they could crawl and whose Grandma might by on a dialysis machine). Not when you notice scars across their wrists.
Expensive hookers, well, they're not really hookers. They're escorts. And since they're priced way out of my league, there's no need to go there.
So, anyway, nowadays, I endure hotels. I'm staying in one until my accommodations on campus are ready. The bellman did ask if I needed anything--anything--and I said yeah, ok--indicating by my tone that I will hold his offer in abeyance.
The mini-fridge has orange Fantas and I get Star movies. What else would I need?
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6 Comments:
A mini-fridge with free orange Fantas. And some Oreos. And a Charleston Chew on my pillow, instead of a mint.
Oh. What else would YOU need? That'd be nothing. Nothing at all.
You took the job! What city/town are you in? Is there green and leafy stuff anywhere? (Somehow, 2 hours from Abu Dhabi sounds ... sandy. And brown.)
Wait. I can't believe I left a whole comment without making the 'free' Fantas bold OR saying anything at all about the cheap hookers. What a waste of a good comment.
Recovering from sickness, that's my excuse.
And what are you teaching?
I'm now in Dubai. Alternate spelling: Do Buy. I'm teaching English through computer skills at a university. No time clock--the way God intended jobs to be.
Forget about the vitamin C overdoses. Whacha needs is a whole lotta whiskey, lemon, tea and honey.
Oh yes. I've scored big from Dubai, thank you. An ex-husband's telecoms co. was owned by Do-Buy-bians, which accounts for why they, who knew nothing at all about telecoms, owned one.
I WOULD have taken the whiskey route if the thought of it hadn't made me want to puke.
English through computer skills. What's your - what do they call that? That thing that means 'how you do it?' That. What's that?
i like the unabashed honesty of this post.
Elektrofly: Thanks for stopping by. Looked at your site. New Mexico is the one place I would consider moving to if I were to repatriate--lots of stars, wide open spaces and not a lot of people.
Movie, Barfly
Faye Dunaway: I don't like people. How about you?
Mickey Rourke: Well, I do feel better when they're not around.
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