Motel Life: Pumping Iron While You Iron

I’ve been traveling again. This week I was in Naples, Florida. Yes, it beats a stick in the eye and then some, but it was strictly a business trip and I wasn’t ensconced at the Ritz Carlton on the Gulf of Mexico. My accommodations were relatively modest; okay they were light years from plush carpets and thick bathrobes with hotel logos on them. I was holed up at the Best Western, a stone’s throw from the interstate where the towels are as thin as my hair and every blanket has a cigarette burn. Now Naples is, if nothing else, a wealthy retirement community. But the folks at Best Western, perhaps because of it’s proximity to the highway, don’t assume that its patrons are routinely listed on the annual Forbes 400 or, for that matter, are strictly on the up-and-up.
When I unpacked my suitcase and hung my suits and shirts I saw that I would need to do a little ironing. I slid open the mirrored closet door, which was partially jammed with what I took to be the remnant of a Snicker’s bar, and searched for the iron and ironing board. It turned out to be a set. The iron was tethered to the board with a plastic wrapped metal coil. My first reaction was embarrassment. Let me explain. Earlier in the evening I had picked up three gentlemen from Australia. Nigel was from New Zealand to be exact. In the short time I spent with him, I’m quite certain he would insist on the distinction. Looking at my iron/ironing board contraption, I could not help wondering whether our prospective business partners, all of whom turned out to be very bright and witty, would think that America must be a nation of thieves. Why else would the hotel chain find it necessary to secure their irons?
Then I had another thought that bothered me even more. I wondered if the men from down under might be thinking we are also stupid thieving Americans in the bargain. Neither the TV nor the microwave was tethered. I know because my curiosity got the better of me. I checked. Perhaps you’re thinking: “Seriously Len, how could a hotel guest carry such large objects through the lobby unnoticed? Irons can be hidden in suitcases after all.” All I can say is, if you don’t believe it would be easy to distract a motel desk clerk long enough to empty your room and the so-called lobby furniture too, you probably don't stay in motels very often.
When I went to actually use the iron I realized I might have overlooked an entirely different explanation for the tightly wrapped coil connection. I soon discovered while ironing my shirts and pants that moving the iron back and forth required a good deal more effort to stretch the coiled wire than one might expect. I not only got the wrinkles out of my clothing, I got a biceps and pecs workout that rivaled an hour at Gold’s Gym. That was all well and good but I never slept a wink after that, worrying that the motel might charge extra for using its workout equipment.
Another curious thing about staying in today’s version of the roadside inn is the breakfasts they serve. Most of these places offer breakfast for free. The breakfast area is always busy. Yet, no one ever checks for a room key to be sure the diners are paying guests. I suppose the possibility that thieving Americans might pilfer Cheerios and a banana hasn’t occurred to the motel security staff yet. Invariably breakfast includes coffee and juice, what appears to be day old bread for toast, cereal and the most hideous looking Danish I have ever seen.
Some motels throw in hot items as well. They have do-it-yourself waffles, scrambled eggs the shape and color of a half-moon and frisbee like sausage patties. Since new management joined our company, I’ve stayed at several Best Westerns. I’ve noticed that in addition to the items already mentioned, their specialty seems to be hard boiled eggs. Trust me: a protein rich hard boiled egg and a cup of coffee after pumping the iron is almost appetizing. If only they served beer for breakfast too.

Coyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.