Check into the Monticello Motel
I’m fixing to check into the Monticello Motel.
No, I hadn’t been tossed out of the house, or anything like that.
About this same time last year a big passel of my relatives from over in the Great State of Alabama, showed up. There was an SUV, a van and a pickup truck loaded with them. They had to have roused themselves up real early, ‘cause they all pulled in before noon. I took one look at them and immediately realized I would have to make another wiener run to Ingles.
The the weather had been the problem. It had been so outstandingly pleasant until all my friends and relatives wanted to come spend the weekend on the lake. They wanted to frolic in the lake, sun themselves on my dock, suck up all my beverages, and eat up all my hot dogs.
About four in the afternoon I started counting them. It was difficult because they were roaring around on the wave runners, doing cannonballs off the dock and floating around in the water on these big inflatable floats shaped like big red elephants, yelling “Roll Tide” to the boats that passed by. We got some hard looks from obvious Dawg Fans, but thank goodness the edible dogs were ready about that time, resulting in us being able to avoid any trouble.
But I did finally manage to get them all counted, well, within a margin of two or three. And I knew at once something had to give, because there was way more of them than I had beds.
I knew I had to be diplomatic, and timing is important too. I knew I had the timing right, because they were all laying around relaxed in the shade, after demolishing a dump truck load of dogs. Their bellies were sticking out like pot legs.
That’s when your brain is at its dullest, when your belly is full. But there was still the task of being diplomatic, ‘cause the last thing I ever want to do is offend anybody.
I eased down next to Cousin Elroy, and said, “You know what, Elroy?”
He let out with a big burp and said, “What’s that, Cuz?”
“I count about 16 guests and I only have three extra bedrooms.”
“Huh?” he said.
“We have to make some kind of arrangements for everyone to have a place to spend the night,” I told him.
He raised up onto an elbow and said, “Well, what do you propose?”
I got right to the point. “Some of these folks are gonna have to spend the night at the Monticello Motel.”
“That’ll be all right,” he said. “Which ones?”
Now here was another dilemma. “I don’t know,” I told him. “You figure that out.”
I have to give my cousin credit. He used some ancient formula and banished all the second and third cousins to the Monticello Motel.
As the evening waned, I gave him directions and he departed with a van load headed for town. About 30 or 40 minutes he returned to the house with his full load of distant cousins.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“What’s wrong?” He repeated. “What’s wrong is that motel doesn’t have a place for people to check in. It’s just sitting there like the Bates Motel and it freaked everybody out.”
“Oh, heck,” I told him. “I forgot to tell you that you have to check in next door at the Dairy Queen.”
“Huh?” he said with blank and staring eyes.
“Yeah, you just go into the Dairy Queen and tell them you want a room.”
“Excuse me, but over in Alabama, we go into the Dairy Queen and tell them we want a Blizzard or a Double Cheeseburger, not a motel room. And if we want a motel room we go to the office of the establishment and tell them we want a room.”
I was too exhausted to explain, so I just told them to grab their sleeping bags and pillows and come on in.
As I contemplated their arrival this year, I knew I wouldn’t have to be concerned about sleeping accommodations for them because the Monticello Motel had zoomed into the future and added an office to the actual motel itself.
Now you can be fixing to go to the Dairy Queen for a Blizzard and a Double Cheese Burger instead of a motel room.