“You want to give me back my room key in your pocket?”.
I said this to him rhetorically in such a way that I was not expecting any response other than him handing me my room card key that he had just placed into his front, right pocket moments earlier.
“What?”. He asked with the most feigned and genuinely confused response he could muster.
“You just put my room key in your front pocket”.
I needed a room tonight in Mobile, Alabama as this seemed like the most likely spot I would be spending the night considering the time of day and the availability of rooms. I should have done my due diligence and at least read some reviews of the America’s Best Value Motel that I chose. But I was on the side of the road on an onramp about a half hour shy of Mobile and I wanted something basic, cheap and safe. Under whatever site I was using to search for motels here - Expedia, Hotel Tonight, Priceline, etc.- this site didn’t have any reviews yet and no pictures of the rooms. It only had a 360 degree view from the street.
The view from inside my room here in Mobile, Alabama. $45.00/night for this? The white door to the right was some kind of connecting door to the room next door. I have no idea why it had the red tape on the door. I placed my riding boots (kind of heavy, clunky and hopefully noisy if they fell over) to act as a homemade booby trap in case my neighbor felt the need for an uninvited visit.
Upon arrival to the motel, the area seemed ok enough - from the front. This motel is part of a line of chain motels you find in any city on a frontage road that ran parallel to the interstate. I've stayed in another sister property up in New York State when I used to drive down from upstate New York with my job. That one was pretty comfortable and clean.
From the front, minus the soon to be seen residents, abandoned cars and nasty mattresses piled out back, it looked ok. From the front. Except for one thing that set off some internal alarms. There was a guy out front that looked destitute. He was skinny and reminded me of a meth head sort of. But it was only him and this is a chain motel so a guy couldn’t be a meth head and stay in a large, chain motel, right?
I checked in for $45 and requested a room on the bottom floor whereby I can park my bike right outside my door. I explain that this is so I don’t have to haul my heavy luggage off my bike too far but internally it is also so I can keep an eye on my bike.
I mounted my bike and rode around to the back corner to room 115, passing the mattresses and abandoned cars parked in the rear. I opened up my room, propped open my door and began to unload my bags, Within seconds a rough looking woman that looked like she lived on the second floor came out of her door to stare at me. Without saying anything she stepped back inside. Another woman walked by my room twice, looking inside. This place was looking sketchy.
What a crap hole. Those curtains barely covered the window and touching them reminded me that maybe I should have up looked into further vaccinations. If you look closely, I didn’t close the curtains completely and there was a sliver of window visible. Later that night, within this tiny sliver I found some of the unwanted friends looking through into my room.
I placed my big yellow duffel containing my clothes and overnight gear inside along with my tankbag and my backpack containing my electronics and documents. I started to remove a few small things from bike when a guy about 40 years old showed up on the second floor balcony somewhat leaning over the railing. He started with what would become his “opener”.
“Is that a 1300?”.
I wasn’t sure if the question out of nowhere was directed at me. I asked him if he was talking to me. He was.
I told him it wasn’t and told him about the bike as briefly as possible. He asked some more questions about my bike, about where I was from and where I was going. Innocuous asked in most places but this was not. He was all part of the hustle.
He continued to ask me questions while two other gentleman joined him up on the balcony. The one to his right was darker, bald and looked like an old ex-con. Or just an old crackhead. He was introduced by both his real name and his street name, neither of which I cared to commit to memory. I was told that he was the “captain of the block” or something similar. The other was introduced my his street name and he was younger and fat. Both looked unamused at my presence and neither one said a word or even gave a nod. He reassured me that both were stand up guys and would watch out for me and my bike while I was here. Of course that set off alarms.
This guy continued to make small talk with me asking way too many questions and I saw what looked like his license drop down onto the ground near me. I told him he dropped his license and he replied that he threw it down to me so I could see that he was legit and who he says he was. He had told me earlier that he was from Philly when I had responded to him that I was from Jersey. This license thing was weird. Alarms again. But it was actually step 2 of his hustle.
I tried to throw the license back up to him and it bounced back down to me. He told me to leave it, he would come down and get it.
Room with a view
This is how the toilet greeted me. I would have opened the toilet seat cover to illustrate what I was greeted with but it wouldn’t stay up. I’ll spare the details but to give you a hint - toilet not flushed by previous occupant and unflushable. Had to call the front desk whom brought a plunger (partially visible on left). Once the front desk guy arrived (a truly nice guy and felt bad that he had to work here) it was a two man operation to get the toilet to somewhat flush. He left the plunger with me so I could use the toilet and plunge it to flush it. It never worked properly and it was a disgusting process.
He walked down the stairwell a few feet away and came over to claim his license. He saw my door open and mentioning how much better my room looked than his, inviting himself in upon me saying that my remote control didn’t work. This was his step 2 to get closer to me. He sat down on my bed and started messing with the remote while simultaneously talking about how this motel is ripping him off and that he owes them money. It was odd, all of this but I didn’t want to seem rude and this is maybe a south cultural friendliness thing. Nothing I would ever probably accept back in Jersey from a stranger but it is hard to put things into perspective while you are traveling and not within the comfortable norms of home.
“You like K-2?”. But he didn’t use the word K-2. He called it something else but I knew what he meant. Still the question came out of nowhere but I had to make sure.
“You mean spice?”. And I chuckled out loud a little. “Is that still a thing?”, I asked. No, of course I don’t want any spice.
He looked like I offended him but he was kind of amused.
“You mess with crack? Coke?”. Again, I replied I don’t. “Not even a little crack?”. I was thinking, is a little bit of crack something people do?
Again, no, I told him. He went down the list to try and hit on something. “Do you smoke weed? Drink?”. I laughed at how forward he was to a complete stranger and said I don’t do anything but the occasional drink, not beer, and the I didn’t want to drink now. This struck him as so incredibly odd you would think I had stated that I don’t occasionally eat pizza or like cheese. He stated with confusion that I’m on vacation and how could someone not want to do “something”. I told him it’s just not my thing.
““Drug misuse is not a disease, it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving car. You would call that not a disease but an error of judgment.””
He went on rapidly spitting out his story, haphazardly and confusingly, all this information I didn’t want to know coming at me so quickly. He was broke, owned the motel money, his wife was upstairs and that I should meet her, they want to move to South Africa, he gets paid at Popeyes every two weeks, that my face is too smiley inviting others to hustle me, asked whether I was “salt life”, and again that he is righteous. The righteousness thing came up along with some other self descriptions that reminded me of some things I remember from The Five Percent Nation some years ago in Jersey City. The righteousness he proclaimed came up at least two times declared from the second floor balcony and at least another two times in my room.
While he told me this he had picked up my room key off of the top of the microwave. I had noticed it but at the time he picked it up it didn’t alarm me. I don’t remember why but it had fit into the conversation at the time. But I did notice him waving it around as he spoke expressively with his arms and hands. I remember thinking that I could imagine him taking it, considering all the previous conversation about money problems, drugs and just his fast talking. He was on something. I continued to watch his hand waving as he spoke thinking of some corner magician waving a magic trick making the quarter disappear in their hand.
And then, there it was. Just as I thought, the card was gone. I could only assume it was in his front right pocket as that is the closest place he got to in between the time it was there and then it wasn’t. He tried to steal my room card key.
““Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.””
What his plan was I have no idea. With all the talk about me getting high, with his help, or us going out for a drink, maybe the plan was for me to go out, get messed up and then his angry friends from balcony on the second floor would rob me. Or, even more nefariously, maybe get me completely incapacitated and get back into my room while I was inside. The thought puts me now in a seriously defensive state of mind.
After calling him out about the room card he played it off as if he thought he grabbed his identification. It was all an accident.
Once upon a time, in a place far away by the name of Mobile, Alabama, there was a smoke detector.
Hope you can smell smoke easily because no electronics are going to alert you to a fire. Curious how long this thing has been missing or how long since this place has been inspected by anything other than the roaches.
He asked to use my phone. I was reluctant and at this point it was time for him to go and he sense it. I asked him why and he wanted to at least call his sister in Philly to see if she could float him the $15 for the money he owed to the motel. I made sure that the only screen he would see was the phone dialing screen and watched him plug in her number. He called her, had a short conversation and promised that he would call her back later with my phone. I’m still in disbelief.
It was time for him to go so the final push was made.
“Can you hook me up with like twenty dollars?”.
No, I don’t carry cash.
“Not even some spare change?!? You gotta have some spare change jingling around somewhere?”
““The lack of money is the root of all evil.””
No, sorry I don’t. With a fist bump he walked out promising to check me out later. He did, twice tonight banging on my door and then my window with me finally having to yell that I’m trying to fucking sleep. Hopefully that is the last time tonight.
The biggest question is…
How did an electrical socket face plate go missing? I’m guessing that it had to be on there at one time to pass inspection. Is this a hot commodity of thieves? I would say it was dangerous but it didn’t work anyway.
Hoping I can sneak out of here early tomorrow morning before these people are up and I can ride out of here never to return. Like I always state when talking about the only time I feel unsafe on a trip down to Mexico and Central America. The most unsafe I have ever felt is at these discount, overpriced, sketchy, shitty interstate motels that I hit in the United States on the way to and from the border.
Tomorrow morning I’m heading towards Texas.