Motel 6: “We’ll Leave The Light On For You. Because You’ll Want It On. Trust Us. Don’t Even Think About Turning It Off.”

This is a Motel 6. When you are tempted to stay at one, remember the old saying, "Every stick has two ends." I have no idea what it means, but you don't hear it as often as "Too many cooks spoil the broth."

Whenever I consider staying at a Motel 6, I can’t help but think of Tom Bodett, the humorist and radio pitchman with the mellifluous drawl who once assured his listeners that the motel was so homey and accommodating, they’d “leave the light on for you.”

But whenever I stay at a Motel 6, I can’t help but remember Sam Kinison, the late comedian and former revival-style preacher who got famous for screaming lines like, “There’s no happy ending to cocaine. You either die, you go to jail, or else you run out.”

Listening to Bodett is like eating a warm bowl of buttery mashed potatoes and gravy at grandma’s house.

Listening to Kinison is like going to an exorcism and getting putrid split-pea soup barfed into your face, and yet you keep coming back for more because it’s inexpensive and there’s a lot of it.

And so it goes with Motel 6.

I’m always drawn to Motel 6 because, well, it’s cheap and convenient, much like home. For about $35 to $50 a night, you can find a Motel 6 just inches from any major highway pretty much anywhere in America. And they do leave the light on for you, although I no longer believe it’s because they’re friendly. I think it’s because cockroaches hate light and will stay hidden under the baseboards and sink cabinets as long as it’s on.

Why I can’t remember that when I’m on the road, I have no idea.

Take my last visit to Motel 6 a few months ago.

My family was driving from Dallas, Texas to our home in Denver, Colorado when we got tired and decided to pull into a Motel 6 in Wichita, Kansas to rest for the night. It was about 2 a.m. when I walked up the reception counter.

Are these young men capable of being Motel 6 night clerks? Perhaps but they're going to have to practice being more surly.

Okay, it wasn’t a reception counter. It was a narrow Formica shelf jutting out from the wall just below a 1-inch-thick polycarbonate window about the size of my head. Somebody with the carpentry skills of a second-grader had cut a hole into the wall, bolted a piece of  bullet-proof plastic over it and, for good measure, covered it with iron bars, Gulag Archipelago style. Standing behind that greasy window was a very disheveled, very disgruntled young man wearing a black hoodie who looked less like a hotel clerk than a deeply disturbed former monk turned meth dealer.

When I saw that yellowed plastic window and his gold chains, I should’ve spun right around without saying a word and driven down the street to the Days Inn. Or even the RV Park. We could have slept among the Winnebagos practically free. We would have been sleeping in our minivan, sure, but we would have been safe, surrounded by dozens of loyal members of the Good Sam Club, who watch out for the wellbeing of their fellow travelers fiercely, or as fiercely as you can watch for one another when you’re 80 years old, have cataracts and ride a motorized scooter to the grocery store.  But I didn’t run away because the price was alluringly cheap, a mere $37, tax included.

Now if you’re like me, you’re very familiar with the old expression, “You always get what you pay for.”

But if you’re like me, you also ignore the old expressions because you don’t really know what they mean and because you stubbornly believe that it’s good to be thrifty, even if that means getting beaten to death by angry drunks.

Which is exactly what I thought was going to happen.


After parking the minivan and unloading our luggage, I hurried my son, daughter and wife past a prostitute who was standing in the parking lot. Or maybe she was Lindsay Lohan, I’m not sure. All I really know is that it was freezing cold outside and she was standing there smoking a cigarette and wearing one of the three official hooker’s uniforms–stiletto heels, fishnet stockings and two bright red tube tops, one for the top half, which I think of as the marketing department, the other for the bottom two-thirds, which in my mind is the shipping department. Either way, though, I was fairly certain this particular young lady wasn’t running a family business.

As we rushed past her into the courtyard, we met a group of young men who appeared to be a little angry and a lot intoxicated. They looked me up and down like I was their personal ATM, but I immediately scared them away by nervously pointing at my well-muscled 15-year-old son, who’s not only a stud hockey player, but also happened to be carrying his sticks. They quickly left, probably because they correctly sensed that my sweet boy loves nothing more in life than removing people’s teeth from their mouths with a Nike Bauer Vapor X, 120 flex, Sakic curve.

If you're on the road and need a helping hand, look for a member of the Good Sam Club. They may not be able to lend you a hand, but they're good people and would probably be happy to lend you a walker.

The light was indeed on in our room, and it was also surprisingly spacious and well-equipped. If by “spacious” you mean all four of us were able to fit inside of it without standing single file, and by “well-equipped” you mean it had a rust-stained sink, a dripping shower and two beds spaced roughly 6 inches apart.  Ignoring the primitive, defensive part of my brain that was instinctively yelling “bed bugs,” “is that blood on the shower curtain” and “what are those stains on the carpet, walls and furniture,” we unpacked for night, climbed under the covers and fell asleep.

Or would have, if it hadn’t been for the drunk guy who started pounding on the door and shouting at us about 10 minutes later. I honestly wish I could tell you what he wanted or why he sounded so angry and bitter, but he was so lubricated I could hardly make out a word of what he was saying. It sounded like, “Waaah grundle snort fucking waaah waaah yaaah stinking waaah fuck you waaah.” Or words to that effect. I glanced at my son to make sure he was still awake in case trouble developed, and cowered under the covers waiting for it to go away, which it did.

And then, finally, mercifully, we slept.

Until about 7 a.m.

That’s when the maid ignored the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob. That’s when the maid ignored the strict unspoken rule that says maids are supposed to knock before entering a room just in case you and your wife, or you and your secretary, or you and the hard-working entrepreneur you met in the parking lot earlier that night are busy putting fresh stains on the carpet. That’s when the maid used her magic pass key to unlock the door and became the only woman in the world other than my wife and my doctor to see me in my tighty-whiteys in about 32 years.

“What time are you checking out?” she shouted.

“We asked for a late checkout, which is about 11 a.m.,” my wife replied, looking and sounding a lot like a hockey player.

“We’re cleaning the rooms now,” the maid argued.

“We’re checking out at 11,” my wife replied, in a tone that frightened me and compelled the maid to close the door.

And then we laid there trying to sleep for another couple of hours while the Motel 6 maintenance man–who would have guessed they had one?–chipped ice off the sidewalk outside our room. I’d like to think he was doing it for us, or at least for my kids. But it was probably because Motel 6 hates getting sued by the hookers who slip and fall escorting their clients to and from their rooms.

We complained about our night, of course–first to the desk clerk, who shrugged and grunted apathetically instead of sympathetically, and later to some anonymous person or persons with an e-mail address in the customer service department at Motel 6’s corporate offices, who didn’t even bother to send us a cordial, automatically generated e-mail expressing regret for our discomfort.

So will I ever stay at Motel 6 again?

I hope not.

But if I do, I hope Tom Bodett’s there to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story. With that voice of his, he could recite the warning label on a can of Raid bug spray and put me to sleep.

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144 thoughts on “Motel 6: “We’ll Leave The Light On For You. Because You’ll Want It On. Trust Us. Don’t Even Think About Turning It Off.”

  1. “…the top half, which I think of as the marketing department, the other for the bottom two-thirds, which in my mind is the shipping department.”

    That line SLAYED me! Did I ever mention that I work for the marketing department?! Now that I think about, there have been many days when I swore I worked for a couple of boobs!

    Ok, so when I finally do get my roadtrip underway, I will NOT be staying at any Motel 6s! Ewwwwwwwwww!

    • I knew you worked in marketing and actually thought of you when I wrote that line. Look, I basically steal all of my ideas from the people I know and like. Thank you.

      • I’m flattered and happy to be your muse! After all the wonderful adjectives you used to describe me in the comments of your last post, how could I be anything else? (Although, the “stick-like” description did make me wonder…)

          • Plus, look at your avatar. You’re actually stick like. Personally, I thought you’d be more disturbed by the description of you as “fully protected against sexually transmitted diseases.” But, again, you are wearing a full-body condom. A purple one, to boot, which shows that you’re a little playful.

        • This might sound strange, but I have intentionally surrounded myself with writers who inspire me, often for very different reasons. Some of them I actually depend upon for inspiration, and it aggravates me when they don’t comment or don’t post. You know who you are.

  2. “…they correctly sensed that my sweet boy loves nothing more in life than removing people’s teeth from their mouths with a Nike Bauer Vapor X, 120 flex, Sakic curve.”

    Hahaha! This brought an image of Eddie Shack storming down the ice to start a fight.

    Why “Motel 6”? What happened to Motels 1 through 5?

        • That’s why I admire Gordie Howe so much. He was a deft scorer, but he could also throw a punch when he needed to. My favorite game that my son has played involved a Gordie Howe Hat Trick–a goal, an assist and a fight. Plus, me and a friend nearly got into a fight in the stands and the rink had to call the police. That was a great, great day.

          Again, I’d like to mention to any kids who might be watching at home, violence is wrong and should be avoided at all costs. Use your words reconcile your differences, and please pray for world peace.

          • Oh, my! Your comment reminded me of one of my cousin’s games: My uncle was taking stats for the league. But I couldn’t believe the “Hockey Moms” – these women were totally insane! They literally threatened death to the referee who put their sons “in the box” – yelling like banshees! I almost fell over laughing. I then asked my uncle if he was also gathering evidence for possible future homicides.

  3. Funny stuff. When I was working on the road a lot I would stay in local hotels. One day while I was trying to get some sleep I saw something scurry across the floor. Well…long story short…it was a mouse – a cute little mouse with big ears. But since he wasn’t contributing anything to my hotel bill, I wanted either him or me to be gone. Called the front desk and told them about the problem…thinking they would just say…”okay, we’ll put you in another room”. To my surprise the desk clerk asked if I wanted someone to come get IT!

    How do you come get a mouse…unless of course, it’s Stuart Little and he’s late for supper. I was amused. So, I told her to send someone to get IT. A few minutes later two men show up one with two glue traps and one with a stick! It was hilarious. They cornered him a few times but never caught him.

    Later that afternoon…I watched lil’ Stuart die of a heart attack on one of the glue traps they left behind. 🙂

    • That’s a great story, although a little gruesome. Most hotels I’ve stayed in have been fine–no mice spotted, for instance–but this Motel 6 was more than a little sketchy.

      • I used glue traps once, then switched to this neat-o contraption that electrocutes them in a heartbeat. Or maybe two. It’s super effective, and a little bit entertaining.

      • I don’t not like mice…I’m just quite terrified by them. This little fellow was so bold. He would peep out and just stare at me. That’s how I noticed how big his ears were.

        Sorry but it’s was either him or me. And I’m too darn big for a glue trap 🙂

  4. Oh, my gosh! I inspired you, didn’t I? I know I did! Please let me inspire you. I really need to inspire someone. I has been such a long, dry spell. WTF am I talking about? My comment yesterday…my guess that you were writing about Motel 6! Okay, I am going to start including subliminal messages in my comments suggesting topics for you to write about…because you are so much better than me. It is a total waste for me to write about a topic when you could do it! Perfect. I have finally discovered my talent.

    There were so many things I loved about your post, but I won’t list them all in this comment. Maybe I will leave a separate comment for each thing I liked. Drive those comment numbers up! Woo Hoo!

    You are one talented man!


    • It was totally you, Malisa. The second I read your comment on my previous post, I thought, “Oh, I ought to tell people about that night we spent in Wichita praying for our lives.” You’re often inspiring, in fact, and I’m sorry I haven’t made that clear sooner.

      As for driving my comment numbers up, if the current forumla for comments on my posts holds up, this one–which is long–ought to receive about four to five comments. The last one, which was 8 words, now has more than 100 comments, more than any post I’ve done. I think I’ve finally learned that my readers have the attention span of me.

  5. I have so much to say on this one that I will only start with one comment. Tighty Whities! Or is it Tidy Whiteys? Either way! Michael, think Ralph Lauren, classic blue and white cotton boxers! Think of your virility! Your jewels need to breath and move freely! Think of the freedom of swinging in the breeze! You do not want to force your private parts into submission! I’m aghast that you would be so insensitive to the idea of hanging loose! But then, I guess I just don’t understand you after all.

  6. Oh, Michael — How you do weave a tale. I will never look at a Motel 6 the same — and I’ll never stay in one either. Soooooo funny, so tight, so well-written. Glad you decided to take a day off from the novel to amuse us, but now I want you to get your ass back to work because I can’t wait to read it.

    God, I miss Sam Kinison.

    • Kinison may be my all-time favorite comic. He combined the profane and the profound in a way that nobody has matched, although many–including me–have tried. He was brutally honest, and wonderfully funny.

      Thanks for the reminder about the book, which you originally prompted me to write with that wonderful post of yours about taking roads not traveled. I’m nearly done with Chapter Two, which isn’t bad for a week’s work. But it’s hard to stay focused when there are so many good blogs to read, like yours. And I feel like I owe it to people to keep posting at least twice a week or so.

  7. In the movie version of this post, they’ll have to have your son recruit the Hanson Brothers (from “Slap Shot”, not those candy-ass pop singers from the 90’s or whenever) to help dish out the carnage. Not that he’d need the help, but it would be hilarious.

    Awesome piece, Mike.

    • The Hanson Brothers–the hockey Hansons as I’ll refer to them from now on–are my heros. I love the quote, which only a fan of the movie will get, “Trade me right fucking now.”

  8. Now, since I’m still here, I must also address the subject of “jumping to conclusions”. You mention 2 AM, and tube tops, and stiletto heels, and fishnet stockings and seem to conclude that this is an automatic prostitute standing in the parking lot of the Motel 6. I beg to differ. What right-thinking prostitute (we call them “sex workers” now) would be standing in the parking lot of a motel that one) leaves lights on all over the place, two) only charges $37 dollars including tax for a family of four, and 3) has unruly, unseemly, aggressive and intoxicated young men milling about? I very much think there is another conclusion to be made that makes far more sense to me.

    I submit to you that the woman may have gotten overly heated in her little cramped room and felt the overwhelming urge for fresh air and the desire to smoke a cigarette at the same time. It’s hard to find smoking room even in seedy motels any more. She just threw on her outfit for the costume party and strolled out to get some air and smoke. Simple as that. (Since you didn’t specify the time of year, I can assume it was near Halloween.) Another idea is that the woman had dressed up for her husband (I do that all the time) for an erotic fantasy and unfortunately, he fell asleep before they could fulfill the fantasy so to speak, so she simply gazed fondly at her lump of a husband and decided to go out and sneak a cigarette since she wanted to let George sleep and not let on that while she had told him she quit, she still smoked. And wearing stilettos is what some women who are totally (well, partially) virtuous do all the time if they do it at all. It’s much the same with fishnets. I have a wardrobe of them. And with a mid calf length skirt, or a pair of fashionable silk walking shorts, they look great!

    • Okay, but, uhmm, do you wear the fishnets while you’re gardening in your leopard-print heels? Just asking out of curiosity….

        • Really?

          I mean, yes, you’re right. That’s why I was asking, because I know you’re not tacky like that and I was a little surprised to hear about your wardrobe.

          As far as this particular sex worker goes, I think it was the affordability of the room that drew her there in the first place. I mean, I don’t know this for a fact, but I don’t think she was a $3,000 a night lady of the night. Except on really good nights when she had a lot of clients. A lot.

          • I wouldn’t wear leopard stilettos with anything else even remotely racy. Nor would I wear fishnets with anything else even remotely racy. Simple dark blue fishnets can be stunning worn with the conservative navy pumps and high necked white blouse with the beautifully tailored wool trousers with cuffs. Surely you see that would not be tacky. Now on the other hand, should it be for romantic adventures, you can do something totally different and not be called tacky if you get my drift and I’m sure you do or at least you should and if not, you are doing something terribly wrong.

          • Michael, you are still jumping to conclusions about that woman. Even if she was a sex worker, she could be a very highly paid employee of Motel 6 and perhaps have her own lear jet so she can fly from Motel to Motel to take care of Warren Buffet and Bill Gates when they want a bit of “strange”.

            • Now that’s a good point, and one I hadn’t considered. But I assure you that she was sex worker. I’m no expert when it comes to sex workers, but a guy just knows. It’s a primal instinct.

  9. Wonderful travelogue. Makes me feel like I’d been there with you. Damn it.

    Standing behind that greasy window was a very disheveled, very disgruntled young man wearing a black hoodie who looked less like a hotel clerk than a deeply disturbed former monk turned meth dealer.

    Great description. Plus, I think I’ve met him.

    “Waaah grundle snort fucking waaah waaah yaaah stinking waaah fuck you waaah.”

    Isn’t that the song that got stuck in your head?

    • Thanks, Frank. I’m not sure it’s the same song, but it may have been written by the same band. You know how it is these days with bands, they work a genre until everything they do sounds identical.

        • I nearly said, “Hey, is that Foster Brooks?” But then I was afraid that he wouldn’t get the joke. Or that he would kill me with a machete. Or both.

          • Ha! Foster Brooks (loved him)! Well, if the drunk behind the door was as plastered as he sounded, I’d think even you would have been able to take him out with a quick wrist-shot from one of your son’s hockey sticks. Hell, I’m surprised your wife didn’t take out the maid with a stick at 7 a.m. I would have.

  10. As long as I can remember I’ve wanted to take Zelma with me and take a roadtrip across the US. You have officially cured me of that silly wish. From now on, I only want to visit nice, clean, sophisticated and friendly European cities with nothing even remotely resembling a Motel 6. Thank you!

    • Uh, who is Zelma? Is she hot? Oh, Michael exaggerates. It’s part of his charm. Look what he says about tidy whiteys! Or tighty whiteys! Whatever. There are plenty of charming inns in America for you and Zelma. Plus, you don’t really need to waste your time and money driving. Just come here.

      • Zelma is very hot, and she plays the violin, you’ll love her. And driving through America to get to you is half the charm. Imagine how much happier I would be to see you after I’ve spent a few nights at Motel 6.

        • We have lots of other hotels and motels here in America. The Days Inn isn’t bad. The Holiday Inn isn’t bad. Marriotts, Embassy Suites and Hiltons are very nice. It’s mostly the hotels with numbers in their names that you want to stay away from–Motel 6, The Super 8, The 6&80 Inn.

          So come, and bring Zelma with you. America needs more hot, musical Europeans driving around in convertibles and eating fried chicken. You know, like Robyn, the Swedish singer.

          • Don’t forget that you’re stopping to get my wife drunk, Nicky. You can also take a minute to see how beautiful the coasters you sent me look in our living room.

            • I did not, would not, could not, possibly forget the Colorado portion of our trip! And, really, why do you think I sent you the coasters?! They will come in very handy when Kerry, Ziva, Zelma and I need to set down our drinks (briefly!). That’s why there are 4 coasters in the set. It was all part of my plan.

              • You are so clever, it’s scary. Why are you not in charge of a major corporation? Nicky’s management style: Develop a long-term plan, then quietly implement it, slowly but surely taking over the market.

                • Ssssshhhh! It doesn’t work if people know the plan! I am clever, aren’t I. And I often wonder why I’m not in charge of everything. I look forward to the day there are no more borders and mankind lives as one global, harmonious community. That’s when I can run for the position of Supreme Leader.

    • OMG, we stayed at that same place in Walsenburg sometime in February, if I remember correctly. Basically, we usually stay in dumps while we’re in transit, then switch to Marriotts or Embassy Suites while we’re there. The contrast is disturbing.

      And you’re quite welcome to borrow my son. For years, if you’d like.

  11. Another comment I wanted to make is about the protection offered by your hockey player son. I love that you are encouraging him to play rough and use his sticks to intimidate would be “evil doers”. Since I only travel with Harry and Honey, I too feel safe just about everywhere. 170 pounds of slathering, growling, teeth showing beasts gives one a tad more protection than using words alone to keep me safe. But then, you have the same thing it sounds like. (Except I’m sure your boy does not slather, or at least slather that much.) I gather slathering is a word since it didn’t get the red underline. I really should look it up and be sure I’m using it correctly, but lazy Mexican woman that I am, I will not.

  12. I echo was Jayne wrote: “Soooo funny, so tight and well-written.” (I didn’t copy and paste so sue me if it’s not exact.)

    This really was a funny post.

    And I think it’s hilarious that you look to your son for protection. That’s priceless and makes having kids all worth it, right?



    That’s funny, I can’t hear you. Hmm.


  13. I can really identify with this post
    1) I like pea soup
    2) I like Sam Kinison
    3) My wife has a cousin in Wichita
    4) My dear departed mother taught Eddie Shack (00dozo’s comment)
    5) I’ve travelled long distances in a mini-van with kids
    6) I’ve never stayed at a Motel 6

    Okay, that last one’s a little off. But I have driven past them. Oh and is that “Sakic curve” named after the hockey player? Is it kinda like the Louisville Slugger of hockey?

    • I’m really sorry that your wife has a cousin in Wichita, not because she has a cousin, but because he or she lives in Wichita. My wife’s grandparents and father are from there. It’s not my favorite American city, although it’s not my least favorite, either.

      I’m also sorry that you’ve travelled long distances in a minivan with kids. I think the KGB now uses this technique to torture spies.

      Amazing that your mom taught “The Nose.” That must have made watching the games a lot more fun for her and your dad, and maybe you, depending on old you are. I’m too young to have seen him play, but I’ve read about him and his infamous fight with Howe.

      The Sakic curve is named for Joe Sakic. It’s just a particular curve and lie, one that suits my son’s shot. Sakic played for the Colorado Avalanche, as you might know, and my son skated with him once during a practice at the University of Denver. Joe is a straight-up nice guy, and very humble considering his success and income. His kid plays at an association here in town, and he’s good friends with one of my best friends, who’s also once of my son’s former coaches and something of a mentor.

      All of above confirms my belief that hockey’s a very tight-knit sport.

      • See Shack play? I lived in Toronto for 10 years. The local radio station used to play “Clear the Track, Here Comes Shack” all friggin’ hockey season. I once saw Frank Mahovlich wearing his #27 Maple Leafs leather jacket sitting on a park bench and asked him for his autograph. “I’m not Frank. I’m his brother Pete,” said the guy and I walked away disappointed. Who knew then that little brother Pete would go on to have an NHL career of his own.

  14. It wasn’t until I read you GOT UNDER THE COVERS that I got really scared. Ewww, haven’t you watched any of those Dateline specials with the black lights? Maybe it’s better that you haven’t.

    We go to KOAs when we need to stop. They have camp cabins for about $35 bucks a night. You don’t get water or anything other than a fire pit and a hook up but they are clean and usually safe.

    • I’ve not only watched those specials, they were all I could think of the entire night, even when I was dreaming.

  15. There are so many funny things here I can’t even point to one or two that made me laugh, because my side is hurting and I have a friggin’ headache from laughing so hard. This is so good. My last job before I stopped working this past November was at a hotel. I sent your post to my ex boss the hotel manager. I know she will be laughing like I am. You sure can write.

    • Thank you very much. I trust you didn’t work at a Motel 6 in Wichita as a night clerk, maid or parking lot entrepreneur.

      Sorry about the side ache and headache.

  16. First of all, I want to say that my name is not Linda Medrano and, therefore, I am not your biggest fan. Second and lastly, I want you to know that under your Google ads is an ad for Motel 6. After reading all this, do they really think I want to stay there? Hmmmm? I don’t think so. Thanks for turning me off to Motel 6 forever.

    • Oh, Linda’s not my biggest fan by a longshot. That would be me, myself and I. I’m such a fan of myself, I’m surprised I haven’t blown myself right out of existence.

      • Michael, you know in your heart that this is not true. I am your most devout fan ever. I simply adore you. I think you are the most talented, most personable and most attractive man who ever lived in this online universe. I just can’t wait (and I’m serious) until you receive the acclaim that you deserve. So sue me! If someone (like your wife) finds my sincere affection for you unseemly, then I will stop commenting on your brilliant and witty posts, but if it ain’t her, it don’t count! You rock, Darling Michael, and I’m proud to say I am your friend and just wish I was rich enough I could be your patron. Then you could you just write and forget about day jobs. (And this is not bs, but really from my heart.)

        • I felt you were being unfairly attacked by Unfinished Rambler–who’s a good guy, by the way–and I was only trying to take some of the heat off of you, Linda. Like that’s possible!

          As far as the other things go, I can accept that you adore me, and that you think I’m the most talented, most personable man you know on the Internet. But “most attractive?” As far as you know, I don’t even have any skin or internal organs. Or I could weigh 400 pounds. So that part might be a bit of an exaggeration. Which is fine, by the way. At the age of 50, I’ll take what I get, and happily.

          As far as my wife goes, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s not the jealous type. Mostly because she’s told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever cross the line, she’ll cut my balls off and mail them to my lawyer.

          I love her so much.

          And I’ll tell you the truth: I’m praying right now that you come into a large fortune. Because I’d love to have a patron, especially if it’s you, because you’re wonderful. Truly.

          • I would just like to interject, Michael, that you don’t know if I’m a “good guy.” Like Linda’s misguided image of you as the “most attractive” man on the Internet, I might be a bad guy, who poses as a “good guy” on the Internet. In reality, I might be a serial killer on death row, who is tricking into you thinking he’s a “good guy” only so he can find out where you live and then hunt you down and kill you when he breaks out of prison…which, by the way, let me tell you, will be very, very soon, so be very, very afraid. 🙂 <– No, really.

            (This is what I get for reading too many mystery/thriller novels about serial killers a la The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and others. Or is it?)

            • I think I’m right about you, Unfinished, but you raise an excellent point: On the Internet, nobody’s necessarily who you think they are. I, in fact, might not be a mild-mannered writer at all. I might be the guy in the cell next to yours. And maybe my shiv’s a little bigger and little sharper than yours. And maybe you’ll find that out when we get our hour in the exercise yard.

                  • Do you have any idea how hard it is to find flowers in prison, let alone daisys? But I wish there were more flowers. Prisoners need to see more of the natural world, and to experience the goodness of God’s bounty. We should send out some seed packets to help them plant Truth & Purity Gardens.

  17. Days Inn is no guarantee of quality; I once had to summon the front desk at a DI in Atlanta to send someone to remove the used condom that was stuck to the carpet in my room. I’d apparently checked in behind someone from shipping. I chuckle when I think that that same hotel is now a chi-chi $200 a night ’boutique’ establishment, now that the rooms have been stripped of their Miami-Vice era splendor.

    • Eeeewwww!

      I’m starting to think no hotel’s safe. Best to go through life wearing a full-body condom, I guess.

  18. Okay, in all honesty, I don’t think I have EVER laughed so hard while reading a blog post. Holy. Hell. My whole face hurts from cackling like a hyena. I’m still trying to take all of this in, because there were so many brilliant lines written I am finding it truly difficult to choose my favorite part. But, if I had to? I would have to say that your description of the check-in counter was pure comedy. In fact, I love this story SO much I am tweeting and facebooking it right now!

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  20. Well this goes to show you how much of a “hill billy” this person is who wrote this article. Most of this I can tell is waaaaaaaaay over exaggerated. I can tell this person and anyone who thinks Motel 6 is a terrible place doesn’t really travel much. For one thing, I have travel with the Marriott Hotel and Hilton Hotel, however after the economy crisis, I had to really watch my budget and so I would then travel with the Best Western and the Motel 6. Since I have experience with both sides of the fence of high end Hotel to Low end Motel, I can tell you that they both have their pro’s and cons. The high end hotel name like Marriott and Hilton aren’t always clean and don’t always have the exact “wanted staff or clientele” as well as those unwanted bed bugs. So just like any other Large hotel, the Motel 6 has it’s good motel’s locations and bad locations. I have stayed at some motel 6 properties that were so wonderful and others that were terrible. Don’t be ignorant like all these other people, if you want to save money, then the motel 6 is the best place to go.

    • Oddly enough, I’m not exaggerating. That experience was so bad, I vowed to never again stay in a Motel 6. And I haven’t.

      But I’m glad you’ve had good experiences there.

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