I admit I kind of glossed over certain events in yesterday’s post about our little ride from Tennessee to Rhode Island. Obviously being the one that writes the blog, I’m bound to edit out certain events, especially when those certain events are extremely embarrassing or humiliating – to me. I consider just about anyone else fair game, but moi, humiliate moi self?? Come on now…

But, sometimes, though personally embarrassing, the story is worth sharing, and since nothing else of interest has happened lately, here it is, in all it’s gory glory – the story that did not make yesterday’s blog post:

The first day of our ride, Abi and I only rode about 160 miles. It wasn’t a long day, but it didn’t really need to be. We found a suitably dumpy hotel, which, at $52 a night was perfect.

For $52, you get a bed, a TV (usually with color), a toilet, and not much else. And as expected with that rate, most of those items will be old and worn, but will generally work as they should.

But of course, one of those items did NOT work as it should. In fact, after using that device in a generally approved manner, it was in desperate need of maintenance. In a $52 a night hotel, there obviously isn’t a large staff of maintenance folks hanging around and waiting to discreetly help you to unblock whatever hotel related problem you may experience.

Yes, the commode managed to get blocked up, and blocked up good. And, surprisingly, no Indian food was involved.

In any case, now there’s a problem. The only way to solve this problem is with a plunger. The only place that might have a plunger would be the front desk, because for $52 a night, you definitely don’t get in-room plumbing implements. The girl at the front desk was kind of cute, but this was probably not the best way to break the ice.

So, I trudged down the long Walk of Shame to the front desk, and lo and behold, the cute front desk girl had two equally cute friends in there, all watching Sex in the City and eating a nice McDonald’s takeout dinner together. Great.

“Hi.” she says. “Can I help you?”

“Err…” I can’t bring myself to ask. Why me? I just can’t do it.

She eyes me for a minute. All her friends stop watching Sex and quickly join in the staring.

“Err….”

The girl behind the desk starts looking a little nervous, probably wondering if another mumbling homeless maniac has wandered in to the Lo-Budget Inn. I start wondering how long it will take until the police come.

“Err… I was just kinda wondering if….”

“Yes?”

“If you have a…. ” – deep breath – “…a plunger handy?”

She visibly relaxed, and a smirk slowly crossed her lips. Did I say she was cute? Oh, how wrong I was. I’m sure this evil girl just lives for dishing out the sarcastic punishment in humiliating moments like this one. Hell, if it was me, I would too.

“Why?” the not-at-all cute witch drawled. “Is there a… problem?” One of her little hamburger swilling bitch friend snickers in the background.

I consider saying, “No, I just like to beat smart ass desk clerks to death with plungers, and I seem to have misplaced mine,” but that wouldn’t get me very far. Instead, I just meekly half nod.

She goes in back and comes out with a plunger, hands it across the desk with a massive eye roll, a barely covered up giggle, then, in a masterful piece of over-dramatic flair, she crumples up her half-eaten hamburger in the wrapper and ceremoniously throws it in the trash, far too disgusted by my problem to finish eating.

All three little bitches bust out in howling laughter as I emerge a beaten and humiliated shell of a man on the Walk of Shame to fix my self inflicted toilet problem.

Yeah, our motorcycle rides aren’t all glamor, and this story is a perfect example of why the shittiest parts don’t usually make the blog.

Author: frenchy