Life on the road is filled with hot plates and ill fates

Jan. 24, 2018
Fast forward 25 years and here I am again living life on the road. Albeit a mature life on the road. I am rudely reminded that my maturity presents me with a new set of challenges.

When I first started my career in the automotive aftermarket, I could go for several days with little sleep. I would drive countless miles, work until all hours of the night and do it all over again the next day.  

I could “set ‘em up, knock ‘em down” and sing “It’s Closing Time” with what I was told to be the voice of an angel. I could slurp the foulest cup of gruel and sustain myself with any type of exotic cuisine only to awaken the next morning with little disdain for the treasonous acts that my body had endured the prior evening.

That was my life as a young sales rep. It didn’t happen like that every night on the road, but it did happen. Everyone who has lived life on the road has a few of those stories.

That was then and this is now. Fast forward 25 years and here I am again living life on the road. Albeit a mature life on the road. I am rudely reminded that my maturity presents me with a new set of challenges. My tastes have become somewhat more refined, my indulgences far fewer and much less tolerable, and my appreciation for simple pleasures eagerly anticipated. Some might say expected.

My tale of woe highlights only two simple, yet expected, modicums of the sublime. A decent meal and a clean bed. My neglected youthful judgment and its penalties, regardless of the fables they conjure, are fresh enough in my memory, and that’s how I want to keep them – a memory.

Now I like a clean bed, a decent meal and sufficient sleep. I’ve danced with Montezuma and tempted God. At my age, there is only so much Pepto Bismol can cure, and I imagine that God is tired of my antics. These last few months have made me realize good food and clean sheets are tough to find.

After a recent seven-hour drive, I was looking forward to checking into my hotel. I have discount cards, membership cards and reward cards for every hotel, motel, airline and fuel station in North America. It’s a new thing for me, that’s how long I’ve been away from living on the road. I qualify for an AARP card, but my ego has kept me from mailing the application.

After scoping out my surroundings near the hotel, I decided to eat at a Mexican restaurant near my reserved room. Being convenient is a much higher standard for variant selection these days. Plus, it was Mexican food, and I might need to get to my room quickly.

In typical fashion, I was seated and handed a menu that more resembled a copy of National Geographic magazine. It was huge, illustrated with many photos and replete with 441 entrée selections for combo meals. I could have read “War and Peace” quicker than that menu. Oddly enough, the square-root of 441 is 21, which coincided with the 21 different types of tacos available. I nodded with a newfound understanding that there was some numerology at work behind the plywood-sheet-sized menu.

I always feel foolish ordering a number, so I just tell them what I want. “Two beef tacos, refried beans, guacamole, a slice of lime and rice,” I say. My waiter replies, “Oh, that’s number 386, right?” I give him a thumbs up, and wondered what would happen if my food selection strayed beyond the 441 choices. 

Number 386 was delivered with the reminder, “be careful, the plate is hot.” Why is the plate always so hot? In fact, it’s hotter than the food. I thought I’d look for a ceramic kiln when my meal was complete. I moved my iced tea away from the plate to keep the ice from melting, and moved the napkins to keep them from spontaneously combusting. I ate a few more chips as I waited for my plate to stop glowing cherry red. Then, ever so gingerly, so as not to touch the plate with my fingertips, I retrieved a taco, and took a bite. Crunch, crunch.

Oh my. Was 386 “two beef tacos, refried beans, guacamole, a slice of lime, rice, and 10 ounces of salt?” Could I have bumbled into a clinic that treats salt deficiency? As I choked, snorted and coughed all at the same time, the patron beside me whispered, “They should have told you the plates are hot!” I realize that my reaction could have been confused with ingesting something very hot and waved to the guy as I tried to find a napkin whose edges weren’t singed.

After tasting everything else on the plate, it was found to be covered in stalactite salt formations. I looked around the room and expected to see people checking their blood pressure or suffering from bleeding gums. Interestingly enough, my attention was drawn to the huge pitchers of water on every other table. “They must be regulars here,” I thought. Fearing a heart attack and knowing I didn’t bring enough blood pressure medicine with me on this trip, it was time to leave.

In my youth, I’d have given them another chance. Since my lips were swelling and a blood vein had already popped out on my forehead, I asked for the check, paid, stood slowly so as not to pass out, and as my vision returned, found my way to the car. At least I didn’t have far to go. 

Keeping to the sidewalk is safer than ill-traversed shortcuts because I can’t see well without my glasses, and generally refuse to wear them when I want to look younger. Younger than what, I don’t know, but younger seems like a reasonable goal. So, the ‘younger’ of me tripped past my central-located car towards the reserved hotel room. Veins prominent and pulsing, swaying to and fro, and I was still hungry. I needed a nap.

As I walked into the foyer, the first thought that came to mind was that the hotel must have been hosting a ditch-diggers convention, or at the very least a seminar on landscaping. The sheer amount of dirt that polluted the reception area was both alarming and impressive. I’ve stayed with this hotel group many times and generally have been pleased. My flared hypertension caused my hypersensitivity to become activated, and I knew this was not going to end well.

There was an enclave of large burly men cavorting around waiting to be checked-in. Clothed in coveralls and hard hats, they all muttered about where they were going to eat dinner, and a few suggested that they go to the Mexican restaurant next door. I was going to intervene but one guy screamed “tequila” and the rest started doing hat dances. Then, out of the blue, the receptionist said, “Be careful, the plates there are really hot.” There was an unnatural calm, then my line-dancing linesmen burst into laughter, resuming their antics. As they rushed out the door so as not to miss happy hour, I checked-in.

Room key in hand, I went to the elevator. On the ride up, I noticed that the stainless-steel walls of the elevator were covered in mud as if someone had been kicking the walls to dislodge debris from work boots. From the look of things, most that tried this little trick were greatly successful. I felt sorry for the hotel cleaning staff as I stepped out on the third floor.

My thoughts wandered as to the condition of my room. When I opened the door, my worst fears were realized. The carpet looked as if someone had recently rebuilt a 350 Chevy engine in front of the night stand. The bathroom looked like – never mind. When I turned down the bed spread I was further sickened. I snapped a picture with my phone, went down stairs and registered my complaint.

The receptionist offered me a free upgraded room with a Jacuzzi, to which I again displayed my recent photograph. They allowed me to cancel the reservation with no penalties, and I left in search of another place to stay. As I drove toward the next hotel, I was struck with the realization that 25 years ago none of that would have fazed me. I laughed and my stomach growled, reminding me that I still needed something to eat.

The next hotel was more upscale and had its own restaurant. Check-in went well, clean elevator, and a nice room complete with spotless bed linens. I ordered room service, which was promptly delivered. As I signed the bill, the waiter said, “be careful sir, the plate is very hot.” I smiled and muttered to myself, “Hot indeed. It’s good to see you again, road.”

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