Hotel from Hell
There was literal FIRE in the hotel. I’m not just exaggerating for people to think this is some fun jokey thing. The hotel guest in the room above me was just laying on his bed watching, I don’t know, some CSI probably, when his fire alarm exploded. The one thing that’s supposed to save you in the case of emergency was the one thing that caused the emergency.
The flames from the exploded alarm set off the sprinklers and the hotel’s alarm system, flooding the room and a good portion of the 18th floor.
Here’s why America is great, we have been through so many fire drills during our wonder years, that when we hear an alarm go off, our first instinct is to stand there and wait for teacher instructions.
I was in the hotel gym when it happened. Everybody stopped their respective workouts and just stared up at the ceiling as if flames were going to burst out of the alarms and that was our cue to run, which was surprisingly accurate in this particular case.
I’m not just making commentary on the big dumbs that Americans are, I was actively participating in the dumbness. I stared up at the alarms with the best of them thinking in my head “How long do I have to wait before I can go back on the elliptical?”
I don’t have money for a gym at home, so I binge on hotel gyms when I get the chance. THAT’S the direction my life has taken.
Finally our “teacher” came on over the intercom and gave us instructions to exit the building, which we were all pissed about. One Houstonian could not get over the fact that she would have to go OUTSIDE in her shorts and tank top. “I’m from HOUSTON y’all! I don’t do cold!”
While we were waiting outside for the fire department to fight that fire, which involved all ten of them squeezing into a control room area and stare at a series of buttons for a while and then shake their heads and leave, all the baby cheerleaders showed up. Who knew that Hartford, Connecticut was the cheerleading capital of America?
I was inside an episode of Cheer Moms. Tiny, shellacked pony tailed demons were everywhere. Running around in circles, doing cheer routines in the lobby, some of them barefoot in bikinis – why? Moms, who were living vicariously through their daughters because they never had the sheer “talent” it takes to be a cheerleader, were barking orders at all the girls, telling them to not forget their sparkle and asking them “What do we want?” over and over again.
It took me twenty minutes to wait for all four elevators to empty out the little spawns of Satan before I could get a chance at entering the travel box. The second I did, I immediately regretted it. I was sardined into the elevator with a bunch of girls whose hairspray soaked heads lined up perfectly with my nose. While I was busy trying to regain consciousness from the fumes, they were busy screaming about who-the-fuck-knows-I-blacked-out.
By the time I got to my floor, I was 63 years old and had lost the will to live. It was then that I vowed I would never raise a cheerleader. And if my child, for some obscene reason wanted to be a cheerleader, then I will discover what loophole in the legal system will let me adopt out my 8 year old.
No Bunheads in the Oven