I hadn’t seen my Mom and Dad since February, before my ankle surgery. I finally felt well enough to go on Friday. Manly Man couldn’t go, so I was on my own--just me, The Avalon, and the Big Slab to Northern Virginia. It’s a drive I’ve made more times in the last year than I can count. A beautiful sunny afternoon soon turned into a monsoon just past Roanoke, with thunder and lightning bolts streaking the sky in front of me. A think that was an omen.
But for now I was listening to music on my iPhone, piped through the car stereo as loud as I wanted. A call of the wild made me turn into the next rest area. By then I had driven out of the rain, but the restroom was dark. The storm had knocked out the electricity--no lights or running water. No problem, it was still daylight and plenty of hand sanitizer in the car. In fact, Curly Slim recently told me I overdid it on the hand sanitizer--he found three bottles in the console of my car. You never know when you might need a large helping of that stuff.
Back on the road I reached for my phone to resume my listening pleasure, and Oh No Mr. Bill, there was no phone. Yikes, I left it in the stall at the rest area! Of course, those rest stops are in between exits, so I had to drive to the next exit, go across the bridge and head SOUTH on I81. It was about 20 miles of back tracking. I expectantly went into the stall and OOPS, no iPhone waiting for Miss Margie. I asked the attendant on duty and it had not been turned in. Stolen. My mistake. Why oh why did I leave my phone, and how oh how could it be my misfortune that I had disabled the passcode that I use 99% of the time! My life was no longer in my hands. I believe in people to do the right thing, so I was shattered.
Now what do I do? Someone has my phone, possibly stripping me of MY identity, playing MY games, listening to MY music, and having access to MY data. I was close to Harrisonburg, pulled off to ponder this dilemma. Thanks to my son’s generosity, I have an iPad and looked up the location of the nearest AT&T store. The salesman there saved me by turning off the old phone and selling me a new one at the best possible price. It’s not an iPhone--that will have to wait--but it works. The good news is that my old phone was broken; the microphone didn’t work and I could only talk on speaker, so now I can actually make phone calls. And the salesman even called me Darlin’ on the way out the door and that made me feel better, yes indeed-y, it sure enough did. A Southern Gentleman is alive and well in Harrisonburg.
Next stop was Winchester where I was checking into a motel next to Shoney’s. I had not stayed there previously but had a printed discount from Hotel Coupons. No reservation, no problem. I was checking in, and in the mirror saw a woman ready to check in behind me. She had wild hair, a dress down to here and up to there, and cash in hand. I was kinda, sorta snickering to myself and trying not to stare when she told me she liked my sweater and started talking to me. She never wore a dress, only jeans and T-shirts, but she had been talking to this guy on the internet for two months, and now they were meeting, here, right now. She said her husband had left her after 13 years and she had lost a child, and asked if she looked pretty. Of course, I said (well, in a sleazy sort of way). She had gotten her dress at Good Will, okay, I’m all for a bargain, but maybe she should have looked for a larger size. I asked if she was excited. Yes, she was both excited and nervous. Oh, my! I left and her “date” was waiting for her in the parking lot, looking kinda cute, and kept smiling over at me. Maybe he was excited and nervous, too!
On to the room on the backside of the motel. There were some lights in the very dim lot, but why was I not feeling so good about this? Enter the room. What is that stench? Find the light switch. Look at the prints on the wall. Notice that they are different, not the same as at Motel 6 (you can tell I travel high-class). But that gold desk chair doesn’t seem quite right. The cigarette burn, the worn arms, foam showing through the naugahyde. The lamp shade looks like it was the first one manufactured--it is warped and dirty. The mattress is drooping on one side and looks like it would drop me right on the Very Scary Nasty carpet. Do I dare look at the bathroom? Looks like it has been cleaned, but do I dare touch anything? I move the luggage rack and my hand immediately is sticky. I wondering if I can possibly sleep here and decide NO WAY. Back to the office, I ask for a refund. No sorry, ma’am, you have to report problems within 10 minutes and it’s been 30. I can’t believe it took me that long to decide. But I leave anyway and wave to the excited woman and her date who are circling the parking lot. I drove SOUTH on I81 to another motel where I stayed before but is further away. It’s not new but it’s clean and at this point looks like The Ritz. Whew, it’s almost midnight. I left home at 3:30 and it’s only a four-hour drive. Where is that hand sanitizer? I think I need to take a bath in it.
I visited Mom and Dad the next morning. They are doing fairly well. Dad just turned 95 and looks pretty good. We spent a good deal of time sitting on the screened-in porch. It was so peaceful, a much needed respite after a trying episode. Mom has lost several things that we have searched and searched for. She says they are “upstairs.” Now if we can figure out where upstairs is in a one-level building, perhaps we can find her missing items and all will be well with the world once again. Maybe I’ll find my iPhone there, too.
