After my niece Morgan spent an hour researching places to eat near
us, carefully eliminating them according to star ratings, cost and distance, we
settled on a "European-style bistro with Bohemian flair" located a
mile's walk from our hotel. It was not lost on me that we had decided to forego
several historic destinations during our trip because they had seemed too far
away but when it comes to food apparently, we will travel any distance and, as
you will see, face any danger.
It soon became evident that we were in a disreputable
neighborhood. "How could you tell," Sydney asked later when we were,
by the grace of God, reunited. I lowered my voice, "There was a LOT of
litter." She nodded sagely, her eyes heavenward as I continued my tale.
"Alert and aware, we proceeded cautiously on with a confident air," I
shared, "until we met a sight so devastating that it stopped us in our
tracks." "What was it," asked Sam as she squirreled through her
greasy bag of "Five Guys" french fires. I glanced around surreptitiously
before answering, "A playground with NO grass!" Everyone
gasped, horrified. "We would have broken out at a dead run were it not for
Morgan's ill-fitting flip-flops but nevertheless, we miraculously arrived,
breathless and panting. "Wait," Brianna asked, "if we're
panting, doesn't that indicate that we do, in fact, have breath." "Be
quiet, Brianna," I snapped, "You weren't there...you wouldn't
know." "But I was there," she said, confused.
"Look...there's only room for one narrator in this story...understand?"
"Yeah," agreed Sydney. "That's right," confirmed Sam.
"Oh," Brianna realized.
Any hoo...it turns out that, for Brianna, the only thing scarier
than our race through Hell's hotel lobby was the restaurant menu. She looked on
in horror as I ordered a beet and goat cheese salad while her sister selected a
stew that no one could pronounce. Brianna's retaliation for dragging her into
this nightmare was to order a $24 steak, make Morgan cut it up for her and then
eat a third of it.
As dusk approached, I quietly queried the waitress about
alternative routes home. “We were a little nervous on our walk here,” I
explained. “Nervous about what,” she asked, confused. Now I was embarrassed and
a little ashamed. What was I going to say? That there was a lot of litter and a
man threatened me by saying “Hello” as he passed me on the sidewalk? I was
frightened that people chain-locked their bikes in front of their houses? I
tried to let the matter drop but the waitress, now aware that her clientele was
rather high maintenance and ridiculous, planned a route of safe passage for us.
“Just don’t go this way,” she warned, pointing out West Capital Road, “and
you’ll be okay.”
So it was, beneath a sinister sky shaded in the nightmarish color
combination of light blues, pinks and purples, we began our treacherous journey
home. We cringed in terror as we passed a poodle. A woman leered at us, her
face contorted by upward-turned lips and sparkling eyes. We were told to have
“a good evening” just like Dracula would have said before pouncing. “Wait,”
Morgan said, “my GPS is re-configuring. We have to go back.” I know enough from
the two scary movies I’ve seen in my life to never go back…but, like the idiots
who decide it’s a good idea to investigate the flickering light in the attic or
the strange noise in the basement, I went back. We turned left. “Morgan,” I
whispered, “We just turned on West Capital Road.” As we hurried down the street
lined with broken brick, barbed wire and abandoned porta potties, I reflected
on my nieces’ father of whom I had threatened to the very inch of his life
regarding his care-taking of my beloved dachshund. “Bring her home safe,” I’d
growled menacingly, “or don’t come home at all.” But, just as it appeared that
all hope was lost…there it was: our beloved hotel…our safe haven…our home. With
street-smart skill and savvy, we’d made it.
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