Where the Other Half Lives

My apologies, my apologies.  I’ve been remiss in my blogging duties.

If the truth be told, I’m just back from a weekend trip to hell.  It wasn’t quite as hot as I had expected, but everything else was just as I had imagined…even down to the old man gyrating to a boombox on the boardwalk.  By the second coming he might even have the spinning on one foot thing down.

Ahhhh…Atlantic City….and to think you make New Jersey proud!

I”m convinced there’s a memory eraser in the toll plaza as you leave town.  Why else would anyone willingly return?  Certainly not for the hospitality at the one star Clarion overlooking Sam’s Club. (And we thought we had destination hotels in Alabama!)

I’ve stayed in many hotels over the years.  Some nice; some really, really nice;  and a few I’d only recommend to Danielle Dobbs (the first girl I ever really hated–and only because she broke the baton that held my dreams of becoming a professional twirler over the handlebars of her pink bicycle).  But even I’m not mean enough to recommend the Clarion to her.

You can tell a lot about a hotel by it’s guests and what they bring.  Chances are, if you see someone pull up and unload 6 black garbage bags, a German Shepard and two full sized ice chests, you can bet your last dollar the front desk attendant won’t care if the fire alarm sounds at 2 AM.  It’s a bet I’d be comfortable doubling.

So it should have been no surprise, when the fire alarm did sound at 2AM, that the front desk clerk was no where to be found.  Actually, let me revise that, someone did see her bolt for the back office.  Nevermind the 50 or so of us who were standing in the lobby wondering why there were no rescue vehicles and WHY Diana Ross was singing her lungs out over the sound system.

I realize we ultimately have no control over the manner in which we die…but I regularly give the homeless a dollar with the hope that God will look down on me and say “Ya know, she wasn’t all bad.”  And then he’ll let me die in a field of Gerber daisies with Rick Springfield strumming the guitar next to my head…

I never imagined Diana Ross in a flaming Clarion.  Thankfully I didn’t have to.

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