ADPtraveler
There aren’t many lodging options in Batesville, Arkansas. Last week, I stayed at the Days Inn. While it’s handy having my car 4 feet from my door, the floor turned my feet black and the desk clerk was apparently working remotely. The Super 8 at the north end of town had one less star; how bad could it be? |The rotund woman that checked me in was pleasant sounding when she handed me the 'key' and said, “That’s the room where you have to pull up on the handle and push the door.”|I thought, “Do you normally pull on it?” but kept quiet. |The carpeted stairs were next to the lobby. She must have heard me swiping, lifting, and pushing. She approached and said, “Let me show you.” She swiped, lifted, and threw her shoulder into the door like it was a jackhole in a mosh pit. My mouth hung in awe for a second before I thanked her, entered the room, and dropped my bags on one of the beds. I saw two remotes in the dimly lit room, figured out which one was for the TV and pressed the power button. No joy. I felt around the perimeter of the TV for a set of buttons. Less joy.|Loathe to leave the room, I grabbed the phone on the desk and pressed 0. Silence. Two taps on the protruding disconnect button. More silence. Down the stairs I went to an empty lobby. I was encouraged by the presence of a slice of chocolate cake next to her computer. She didn’t look like she had ever turned down a dessert, so that slice wasn’t long for this world. Before I was overly tempted to eat it, she approached. I smiled and told her that my TV didn’t work. She asked, “What kind?”||“The most basic and smallest of LG models,” I replied. Up the stairs we went. I was eager to try the new door opening technique. Swipe, lift, crash and we’re in. The sun had set, and the room was dark. I didn’t want her to think I was a perv, so I flicked the light switch. Nothing. I asked, “What is this switch supposed to turn on?”|“The desk lamp, but you don’t have one. I wonder why.”|“Maybe they take components from this room for other rooms with functioning doors.” I squeezed past her and found the lamp between the two beds. There were two switches on the same lamp, both of which turned on a 30-watt bulb. I looked around the dimly lit room for another light and found none. She found the TV remote and crushed the power button and the TV turned on. Feeling sheepish, I said, “Sorry, I didn’t know to mash the button so hard.” |She was staring at the TV like something was wrong with it, which I assumed was due to the 6x3 grid of circular bright spots like a miniature stadium light. Instead, she tried both remotes, but the station was stuck on a pinhead yacking about the pope's legacy. She pushed the volume controls, but that didn’t work either. She gave up on silencing the talking head and focusing on channel. “Maybe it needs new batteries.”|“Try swapping the batteries from the TV remote to the Direct TV remote,” I offered. She removed the cover of the former and held it up in the dim light. I couldn’t see them, but accurately guessed, “Wrong size.” She left for the office. |A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I was tempted to yell, “Come on in!” to watch her linebacker impersonation, but she was trying to help. At this rate, she’d need two pieces of cake. |She pointed the satellite remote with fresh batteries and sighed when it didn’t work. “I knew it wasn’t the batteries.”|“Where is the satellite receiver?”|“They mounted them on the back.” She stood between the lampless desk and the multipurpose dresser and heaved it away from the wall. She stuck the remote in the gap and we were both relieved to see a weather map replace the jabbering woman. “Sorry, you’ll have to hold the remote next to the wall to change the channel.”|“Not your fault; you aren’t the retread that installed the box back there.”|“Have a good night,” she said as she exited. If only.|Finally, I could go to the bathroom. I sat down and immediately discovered that the seat was missing a connection. Any lateral posture deviation resulted in uncomfortable contact with the side of the cold bowl. I get to the sink and grab the small bar of soap wrapped in plastic. It won’t pull apart. I try the other end but it is equally resistant. I can’t use my teeth since I’ve fully contaminated both ends. I don’t want to sully my knife either. I stare at the package wondering why the most secure wrapping I’ve encountered in years is around a virtually worthless piece of soap that has urgent value at the moment. After a dozen attempts, I finally free the white bar. The cheap faucet has a contoured sphere from the late 70s. It starts out cold, then turns scalding hot. I adjust to the right a bit at a time with no change. One more bump and the water is suddenly cold. Impatient, I make a bump to the left and burn my hands. Call it double sanitized.|The room was warm, so I adjusted the wall unit below the window that had been blowing warm air. I stink to high heaven since I had spent the day inspecting a chicken farm. The control knob for the shower was similar in style to the faucet, but even more sensitive. The flow was so slow that I waited 7 seconds after each adjustment to feel the results. The difference between burning hot and cold was a half millimeter in rotation. I spent most of the shower with the water pointed to the plastic wall. Since the shower head was at shoulder level, it was easy to keep my face out of the blistering water.|After eating, I sat at my computer to upload inspection photos and realized the room had turned frigid. I made a minor adjustment to the A/C unit and finished my pictures; at which time the room was too warm; another even smaller adjustment to the A/C. By the time I was done responding to e-mails, the room was frigid again. Resigning my fate, I prepared for bed. Standing at the window, I saw that the curtain was broken and would not shut all the way. A well-placed streetlight provided too little illumination to light the room, but an annoyingly ample amount to prevent a good night of sleep.|Fortunately, there was an open rack with hangers in the corner next to the window, one of which had clips for hanging pants. The clips were integral with the hanger. Shivering, I hung the hanger upside down with the clips holding the curtains together.|While the bed wasn’t too hard, the vast array of pillows were either as firm as a sofa cushion or lumpy. I chose the latter and moved my head around until there wasn’t a lump applying pressure into my ear hole.|In the morning, after a minor bump in the A/C controls that would quickly warm the room, I removed the hanger and allowed sunlight to do what the lamp couldn’t. For the first time, I saw that the ‘artwork’ above each headboard was identical. The odd colored/shaped stains on the carpet turned out to be various pieces of trash. In the bathroom, I looked in the mirror to comb my hair and found that the top of the mirror was at eyebrow level. Revenge of the midgets.|Needless to say,…
