On the main street, Jane sits in her car. She angrily snaps off her radio. Frustrated. Her car is strewn with crumpled food wrappers, old vitamin containers and compacted empty water bottles. Yellowed stickies with inspirational sayings are stuck onto her front console. The older ones, with dried adhesive become part of the refuse on her car mats:
Miracles happen almost every day.
It is never too late to be whatever you might have been.
Fear and discomfort are compasses toward growth.
Jane suffers from anxiety, depression and attention deficit. She cannot tolerate the company of negative people. Or anyone unlike herself.
She is looking for a place to stay in Virgil. She is not the sort to consider planning ahead. No reservations. No toothbrush. Not even a change of clothes. She picks up her cell phone to call the motel office, which is just outside her passenger door. Less than 10 feet away. The sign from the motel is reflected on her car window. Some of the neon letters are not working. Previously called: Cozy Inn – Good Food.
It now reads: Coz In Goo F .
The locals call it Cousin Goof.
Jane dials a number on her cell phone. It is not the number for the motel. The screen is shattered making it almost impossible to make any calls. Slamming her phone against the dash to get a signal does not help her, either.
Frustrated, she gives up and exits her car.
Entering into the motel reception area, she is startled by the sound of a door chime announcing her arrival. The chime is off key, sounding more like a clown horn.
Jane calls out, “Hi?! Hellllloooooo?! Do you…. Do you have a …..? Any….” Jane is losing her train of thought as she looks around, taking in the damp cold and the smell.
Dougie, a twitchy, scrawny clerk sits behind the filthy desk reading something on his cell phone. He glances up at her, sweating through his buttoned up, filthy viyella shirt.
“Uh…..” He shrugs. Completely disinterested. He goes back to cleaning under his nails with a plastic knife while chewing on an old lead pencil.
Jane is irritated by Dougie. “So?…. do you …?”
Dougie takes the pencil out of his mouth. His lips and teeth have yellow paint from the exterior of the pencil. Dougie starts to pick at his lips, removing the yellow chips with his tobacco stained fingers. Examining his finger tips. Putting them up to his nose, he inhales deeply. “Yeah… So, how many?”
“How many what? Nights? People? Am I missing something?”
He smiles slightly. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
He takes his time answering, glancing up at Jane, then back at his phone. As if reading something and considering the message before answering. “I don’t know if you are missing something.”
Jane sighs. She begins to talk very slowly.
“Ok. Let’s start again….Do you have a room for me to rent for a couple of nights… No, let me rephrase that…. do you have a room for me…. just me….to… rent…for…2 nights?”
“Probably.” He is looking for something he dropped on the floor. He picks up a half eaten cookie, lifts up the trash container and sweeps the cookie into the trash. Slowly standing, he extends his back, twisting and cracking his spine. All the while studying Jane.
He backs up into the office behind him, opens the bar fridge, pulls out an ice cream container and strolls back to the reception desk. He picks up the plastic knife he was using to clean his nails and scoops out some ice cream. Placing it slowly into his mouth. Contemplating Jane’s reactions.
She winces, clearly repulsed. “Is there someone else here, I could talk to? Like the owner?”
“Nnnnoooo, I don’t think so….”
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t know. You want me to look around?” Dougie turns his head slowly from one side to the other, with his eyes on Jane. “Nooooppppe.I don’t see anyone else.”
“Jesus! Can I get a room or not?”
Dougie looks at the doorway, just past Jane, unblinking for what seems like a long time. Then, he smiles and nods his head. Clearing his throat, he speaks in a rational and coolly professional manner.
“You would like to rent a room for 2 nights. Credit card, please? That’s just to hold the room. I won’t put the charge through until you check out. In case you want to stay a few extra nights.”
Puzzled, Jane turns to look at the doorway. No one is standing there. She pulls a credit card out of her pocket. With it her used kleenex and gum wrappers tumble out, onto the floor.
Dougie takes the card and writes the information from it on a piece of stained scrap paper. He hands the card back to Jane, smiling as if to suppress a laugh, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He passes the pen over the counter to her.
“Sign here…. just for our records.”
Jane begins to initial it. Stops. Then, passes the pen back to Dougie.
“It’s out of ink.”
He places the room key by Jane, on the desk. Picks up the pen and starts to draw blood with it while writing on his hand. “No…. it works just fine.”
Jane pockets the key. Slowly she begins to back up to the exit door.
Dougie lifts a microwave hotdog package up to his mouth and tears open the container with his teeth. The liquid runs out and spills down his shirt and splatters on the floor. A mangy looking dog limps out from behind the counter. It strolls over to the hotdog juice, licking it up off the grimy tile floor.
Dougie stands at the counter, expressionless, swaying slightly side to side, his eyes fixated on Jane.