a document of days

Continued from yesterday... See below for the Part I of this entry.

By this time I’m crying. Perhaps it is a bit dramatic, but I feel like I’ve witnessed some major drug deal and my life is in danger. I am sitting in the car juggling calls between my parents and Ryan thinking ‘Why is neither party en route to my rescue?’

After some digging, Ryan learns that the crappy New Jersey town I am in has passed an ordinance prohibiting pets from hotels. The only response I can muster is ‘blubber blubber blubber’ and a couple of ‘why me’s?’ Finally, I decide that my bloodshot eyes and sniffly nose could work to my advantage and I head to the hotel lobby.

Now, don’t start imagining the lobby of the Ritz. This “lobby” is approximately the size of my bathroom. The young man at the window (yes, that’s right, one can only assume it was a bullet-proof glass window) looked friendly enough, so I begin my story:

“Ok,”
sniffle sniffle
“my car just broke down and I need a room for the night.”
deep breath
“The only problem is…”
I glance up at the prominently displayed sign that bellows NO PETS ALLOWED
“I have a dog in the car.”
Tears start tumbling down my splotchy cheeks.
The young man shrugs.
“No problem.” He responds.
My eyes widen. “No problem? Thank you thank you thank you.”
I pass him my Discover card and sigh in relief.

Granted, I was relieved that I’d scored a room for me and my dog, but my relief was short lived. As I headed to the room at the back of the hotel, I passed the door just before mine and heard dogs barking within; so much for the ordinance that sparked my mini-meltdown.

I swiped my key card and opened the door. The room was just slightly bigger than the lobby. It reeked of smoke (only smoking rooms were available to pets), there was a hole in the door where the peep-hole once was and in the bathroom, the toilet paper was locked in place.

Sal’s apprehension was just as pronounced as my own. Paw by paw we entered the room. The next half hour was spent making a plan and talking to AAA. I never took off my coat or my shoes. Sal paced, hid under the desk, and the moment I stepped out of the room to retrieve my suitcase from the car, peed on the carpet.

I didn’t get a wink of sleep – in part because I was so anxious but also because a group of guys rented the room above me and partied all night. When I did doze off it was on top of the bed, my scarf as my pillow, donning, still, my coat and shoes.

In the morning, I decided to test fate. I started my car and drove 8 miles to a Volkwagen dealer. Six miles into the trip my serpentine belt snapped. I heard it fly out from underneath the car and watched as my gauges went bonkers. My car started overheated, the power-steering went. I was determined to get there and luckily did not do any further damage to the car.

Four hours later I was back on the road.

Perhaps the only funny part about this story is that it is not a new one. Though there are only a few of you, those who read the blog that I kept in 2005 may recall a story that is ridiculously similar.