Hotels and ho’ tales
Another view of that marbled orb weaver. Sorry for the blur/flash.
“Thank you sir,” the cashier said, handing me the long grocery receipt. “Have a nice weekend.”
“You too,” I replied. I took the receipt, folded it, and stuck it in my pocket. The bag boy stood at the end of the checkout, loading the final bags of groceries into my cart. I took a deep breath, preparing for the Saturday morning ritual, and reached for the cart handle.
“I can take that to your car for you, sir,” the bag boy said. He tried to insert himself between me and the cart. Publix advertises that taking your groceries out for you is just one more service they offer. And they take that promise seriously.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“I can bring the cart back for you.”
They always try that one, like it’s a selling point.
“I don’t mind bringing the cart back. The walk will do me good.”
Begrudgingly, he stepped aside.
“You’re sure?” he asked. “I’ll be glad to do it.”
“I’m sure.”
It’s one of my shopping idiosyncrasies. I like to take my groceries out myself, because I can do things at my pace, rather than at the plodding speed everyone else seems to move. I like to walk fast—so fast I got stopped in WalMart once because they thought I was a shoplifter trying to escape—and doing the groceries myself lets me keep moving the whole time, without having to stand around and wait for someone else. Idle hands, devil’s playground, all that.
Plus, I’m just weird.
I pushed the cart out the first door, into the vestibule where all the soft drink and gum machines are. Slowing slightly as I passed the trash can, I pulled my grocery list out and pitched it in on the way by. Through the second door leading outside, the shock of the cold fall air on my bare arms and legs (see previous paragraph for an explanation of why I wore shorts and a t-shirt in 40-degree weather) raising gooseflesh. Stalking toward the crosswalk while simultaneously checking to make sure no cars were coming, I became aware that there was a woman standing just outside the door.
“Morning,” I said automatically as I passed her. I smelled smoke.
“Hi.”
I checked again for traffic as I crossed the crosswalk, despite the fact that it was too late to avoid a car were one coming.
“Excuse me, sir?” the woman said from behind me.
I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it here or not, but I’m a pretty approachable guy. I’m not sure if it’s something in the way I look, or what, but people sometimes seem almost compelled to come up and talk to me. Maybe I look safe. Not that I’m complaining about being approached; even though I don’t think of myself as a people person, I generally like people except when I’m driving.
I stopped and turned back.
She looked cold in her jeans and flimsy t-shirt. In one hand she held a lit cigarette; in the other, a small purse. Her hair was pulled back tight, away from her face. My first impression was that she was in her upper twenties, maybe early thirties, and that she’d had a hard life.
“Do you know your way around Huntsville?” she asked.
“I grew up there.”
“Do you know where the Radisson Hotel is? On Memorial Parkway?”
I thought for a minute. In my head, I could see the hotel plain as day. I just couldn’t see where it was. The area around it was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of my memory.
“I can picture it but I can’t place it,” I said.
“Do you know where Memorial Parkway is?”
“Sure. It’s several miles that way.” I pointed east. “But it’s the biggest road in Huntsville. It runs through the whole town. Do you know if the hotel is on North or South Parkway?”
Her face fell. “I don’t know. I just know it’s on Memorial Parkway.”
“I’m sorry I don’t know where it is. Have you tried asking inside?”
She looked back at the store and shook her head.
“Maybe someone in there will know,” I said. “Or they’ll have a phone book and you can get an exact address, or even call them for directions.”
I turned back to my cart, wondering if she was a hooker trying to get to a john.
“Sir? Is there any way you can give me a ride to the Radisson? I can give you money for gas. I am so stranded.”
There it was, out in the open. A request for a favor from one stranger to another.
She’s going to rob you, my mind whispered. Then kill you. Probably they’ll just find your head in a ditch after several months. Your head with your genitals stuffed in the mouth like a Snickers bar.
One of the king-size ones, too. Not that little regular-sized one.
“Sure I can, but I don’t need money for gas,” I said. “Why don’t you see if you can find out where on the Parkway the hotel is while I put my groceries in the car?”
Briefly, I wondered if Gavin de Becker was going to step from behind a column and kick me in the ass.
You just signed your own death warrant, shithead. There’s probably a gun in her purse, or at least a knife she can use to gut you. Why don’t you offer to pay for a cab for her?
Her eyes lit up. “Thank you! You don’t know how much I appreciate this!”
While I put my groceries in my car (and had a long inner debate with myself over agreeing to drive a stranger to the other side of Huntsville), the woman asked other shoppers in the lot if they knew where the Radisson was. By the time I finished, she was walking to my car.
“He said”—she poked a thumb over her shoulder at a man walking toward the Publix entrance—”it’s on South Parkway, at the Martin Road exit. Do you know where that is?”
“I sure do. It’s on the far south side of Huntsville.”
“You don’t mind? I can give you gas money.”
“I don’t mind, but I need to drop my groceries off at home first because I have frozen stuff.”
“That’s okay,” she said, and moved toward the passenger door.
Now, some may think me stupid, but I’m not. I know where the boundaries of dumb lie, and I wasn’t about to cross them by taking her to my house.
“If you can give me 10 or 15 minutes to go home and unload these—I live really close—I’ll come back and give you a ride to the hotel.”
She looked understandably suspicious.
“You’ll really come back?” she asked.
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I’ll be back.”
Though, truth be told, my mind was reminding me that this would, in fact, be a perfect out for me.
Just take the groceries home and unload them, pour a cup of the coffee that’s waiting—it’ll be burned if you take an hour to go to south Huntsville, you know—and settle in at the computer before you go hiking. Forget about her. Someone else can give her a ride. Hell, if she has money, why can’t she just call a cab?
“I’ll wait on that bench,” she said, pointing. “Please don’t just leave me.”
“I won’t.”
At home, I put away all the refrigerated and frozen items, then raced upstairs. I shuffled around in my room for a moment, accessorizing, then woke Robyn.
“I, um, am going to give a strange woman a ride to south Huntsville,” I said, somewhat sheepishly.
“What?”
I outlined the story for her.
“And you’re really going back?”
“Heh. I thought about not going, but you know, I told her I’d be back. It wouldn’t be right if I just left her there. I don’t think she’s dangerous. She doesn’t know where anything is. She said she was stranded.”
“You should take a gun.”
“Already have one,” I said, and patted my pocket. Concealed-carry permits come in handy from time to time.
Gavin de Becker would probably kick me in the ass for that, too.
“Be careful,” she told me. “And call me as soon as you’ve dropped her off.”
I drove slowly along the front of the strip mall, looking for the woman. I didn’t see her at first, but then she stepped out from behind one of the columns in front of the grocery store. She walked around the front of the car, her arms crossed and her purse on her back like a backpack. Judging from her appearance she was very cold. Or not wearing a bra. Or both. She opened the passenger door and climbed in. I kept an eye on her hands, making sure they were empty and that she wasn’t reaching for anything.
“See? I told you I’d be back,” I said, and smiled.
to be continued…
You’re going to catch so much shit for this, I guarantee it.
… to be continued? Shit!
W H E N N N N ????????????
Ooh! I’m on the edge of my seat! You’re going to make us wait until Monday, aren’t you?
Mils: You’re going to make us wait until Monday, aren’t you?
You wouldn’t rather wait until next Friday, like the old serial shows used to do?
I can totally relate to the “approachable” statement. I’ve had people ask me for directions on college campuses when I was on a high school trip there. I’ve had a woman start a 10-minute conversation with me in a McDonald’s bathroom in Cincinnati. Random people have started talking to me about stuff like my Palm Pilot, my cats, something I am wearing, etc. 9 times out of 10, they are the ones who start talking.
I love your “to be continued” stories!
Damn you and your “to be continued” stories!
Well,I know that you made it out of that experience alive,since you typed this and all…Hmmm,maybe your severed head is typing this?
I don’t think I will think about the large-sized snickers bar in the same way ever again.
I guess you are teaching us patience with this installment/cliffhanger stories.
What a nice guy
Just be careful of strangers…
Remember there are women out there that are real evil, evil witches
http://www.clarkprosecutor.org/html/death/US/wuornos805.htm
Oh you Shit Head!
I agree with the above- shithead!
Confucius say: He who call Fred names ensure Fred maximize time between entry.
King Sized Snickers? I prefer the “fun size”! Or, even worse, tiny single bite size.
Confucius was an asshole! But I still can’t wait for the conclusion this one! If you don’t mind my asking - what do you carry CCW?
rundmc ruined it for me, by pointing out the obvious that you’re still alive.
Sean - Generally (and because I have a special athletic holster for it) I carry a Bersa Duotone .380 (shown here) because of its size. Small enough to go into a pocket, big enough to fire a decent round (or 9).
I have a couple of others that I’ve carried before, but I usually stick with the .380.
See, this is why I don’t think you should give up on writing those ideas. You really do have talent, Fred.
Wow! Reading this entry almost makes me think I live on another planet, not just in another country!
“You should take a gun.” ??? I don’t even KNOW anyone who owns a gun! (other than hunting rifles)
I guess the city in which I live is pretty small potatoes compared to yours. Sure, we have crime and stuff like that, but if everyone here carried a gun, I can only IMAGINE the problems we’d have.
Don’t take this the wrong way-I know it’s your constitutional right to bear arms, and to protect yourself, but aren’t you just adding more fuel to the fire? Take away the guns, and yes, you still have violence and crime, but maybe not near as much wounded or dead people as a result of gunfire.
I have a sister that lives in Virginia, and she has had a tough time adjusting to the American way of life.
This summer I was at a gas station with my father, when some older men were huddled around a phone booth, looking at the yellow pages. They were looking for a diesel mechanic for their motorhome, which had broken down on the highway. I began to talk to them, and my father offered to drive them to a mechanic to see if they could find someone to fix their vehicle. We ended up driving them around for over an hour, to 3 different mechanic shops, before we found one to help them. They were on a fishing trip and were very grateful for our help, and offered us money for our trouble. Did we take it? No. We were just happy that they could get on their way, and as we drove away I felt good knowing that we were able to help them. Was I at any time afraid we may be highjacked or harmed? Never crossed my mind.
Exactly how did I add “more fuel to the fire”, Leanne? Perhaps you don’t understand the meaning of the word “concealed” in the phrase “concealed carry”?
I’d explain it to you, but I need to go to the mall and have a shooting spree this morning. That’s what people who own guns do, right?
If everyone carried a gun it might cause people to think twice before committing random acts of violence. Why take the chance of mugging somebody if they might be armed?
A coffee maker with a thermal carage keeps your coffee nice and hot without burning it.
Also, I hope there will be photos of the mall shooting spree.
*on edge of seat*
I personally would never own a gun (I do know how to shoot, though, and I love to go to shooting ranges). But I don’t care if other people have them, as long as there’s, you know, background checks and all (hey, you can’t trust everyone with a loaded weapon). Although I will say that, when I was a stripper, nothing–and I mean NOTHING–freaked me out more than dancing for a guy who carried a gun. When you’re that close to someone’s lap, you don’t want anything below the belt going off. Especially not something that can kill you.
What I meant Fred, was that if everyone carries a gun, concealed or not, it’s more likely that someone will get shot at some point. I guess it makes you feel better to know you can shoot someone’s head off if the need arises. I’ll stick to my small town viewpoint, where I can tell you NO ONE has been shot, and few have suffered from acts of violence.
You TEASE!