Midnight in Montgomery

It’s been a long time since I’ve regaled my readers with a comical vacation anecdote. If you’re unfamiliar with these tales, let me educate you. Throughout my brief lifetime as an Allen, we have embarked on many adventures. Often, our lodging choices have been less than, ahem … desirable. My most popular recant of a hotel pick gone bad - horribly bad - is a New Year’s Trip to Galveston Island and a stay in a chain whose name I’ll change to protect their reputation. Let’s call them, La Stinka. This stay can be summed up with three words: bugs in bed.

We left this past Sunday for the Georgia Coast, which is a long way from East Texas. We originally had reservations in Meridian, Mississippi, but got there earlier than expected and decided to push for Montgomery, Alabama, so our drive wouldn’t be as long the next day. We arrived in Montgomery after dark, making our approach from the south side - always a good idea. After driving for more than eight hours and we were tired and hungry. We meandered through the coveted pawn shop and seedy bar district for some time before locating any kind of remotely acceptable lodging. The choice was between a (names changed) Motel 9 and a Fantastic Ocho. Neither are on my Top 1,000 list of places to spend the night, but we were out of options. Onward to Fantastic Ocho!

We checked in and walked to our room, which was exactly ten feet from the lobby. I think the guy at the counter took pity on us and put us somewhere we’d feel safe. Or, it’s possible he knew something we didn’t and really was trying to keep us safe. The room across the hall from us had recently lost its door handle. Six jagged holes remained.

We entered our room, where the lights and television were on (?). From there, the evening unfolded. We left to get something to eat and on our way back to the room asked for more towels. These towels never did arrive and we went to bed. Just as we were drifting off, there was a knock on the door. Towels. Back to bed. Another knock. More towels? No, this time a 7-foot man was on the other side. I’m thinking Michael Oher, but this was Montgomery and not Memphis. Did I mention the door did lock, but there was a gap between it and the frame that a small child could wiggle through? The chain had also been torn off, same unfortunate accident the door across the hall experienced, no doubt.

Gigantor was the final visitor of the night and I finally relaxed and slipped into a shallow sleep, a sleep disturbed by a distant rumble. Thunder? No, it was constant and getting closer. The COPS theme began playing in my head, and I concluded it was a police helicopter. I’ll never know for sure.

When I awoke the next morning I needed internet. I was 99.99% sure there was no Wi-Fi but tried anyway, and tickle me pink, there was! It belonged to the Motel 9 next door, but I didn’t think piggy backing fell below the high ethical code of the establishment. The final golden nugget of humor is this: There was an ironing board, but no iron.

All in all, the room was clean, the staff was friendly and helpful, and we got a decent night’s sleep. It also serves as a great story, and fuel for my unfair “Bama” stereotyping.