Why I Hate Motels.
by Joan Baril
I have always hated motels. A friend who also hates motels gave me excellent advice. “Never ever look under the bed.”
I only disregarded this counsel once. I leaned over the edge, lifted the ruffle and saw, among a grotesque surfeit of dust bunnies, three used condoms. After that experience, I never looked again.
I am not referring to the cheap motor courts or $40 a night rooms one sometimes has to take out of desperation. A snow storm in Arizona found me in a place with cockroaches as large as mice climbing out of the toilet. Another place had the mirrors and curtains so arranged that anyone walking by on the sidewalk outside could see me in bed.
The window curtains in motels never meet at the edges. They always leave an inch or two of gap. It is one of the great mysteries of travel. Who does the measurements before buying the drapes? Is it the same person the continent over? Is there some sort of rule that the curtains must be too small? In any event, I always carry a large safety pin to clip the edges together to ensure privacy.
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