I'm Cheap

It’s in my blood. I blame my mother, but my dad is also gifted in it. I heard my grandparents all talk about it whenever we were together. They emphasized growing up during the great depression, after all. Perhaps it is a dominant gene handed down for generations.

Yes, I’m cheap.

I’m not cheap like “a cheap date” or liking things that are not well made. I’m cheap like I save Ziplock bags until they are ripped or stained.  I’m cheap like requiring my children to finish their meal or they eat it the next day. I’m cheap like loading up doggie bags when we (rarely) go out to eat. I’m even cheap at flea markets and craft shows.  I’ll take pictures of something I like and then ask my husband to make it for me. I like a good deal and I try to find THE good deal.

But like I said, I came by my cheapness honestly.  I grew up with an aunt that reused Christmas cards. She’d cut off the part that said “Love, Frank” and regifted the part of the card with the picture. She signed the back like a postcard. We laughed.

A Badge of Honor

Cheapness is a badge of honor in my family.  My mom and her sisters have a yearly “contest” to see who is the “cheapest sister.” My eldest sister and I say that they need to include us because we’d be really good competitors.

For example, one year I got a pair of name brand, knee-high leather boots for $12 – brand new. I was indeed pretty proud of my unofficial entry to their contest.

I am not sure that my mom can really call herself cheap anymore because while she does save Ziplock bags, that’s really where it ends. She travels now. Not cheap.

I, on the other hand, enjoy traveling, but still have to pay for four meals three times a day, three beds each night and often somewhere that will allow a dog. Preferably the dog comes free, preferably.

On our last PCS, we managed to stay with friends and family while on the road. However, we needed hotels for two nights. I looked on Google maps and found places with decent reviews, on the route, offered the best price and then I looked at the pictures. (Pictures sometimes lie).

Now, keep in mind that I grew up a military brat. I grew up in the world of “I just need a place to put my head.” I remember staying at Motel 6s where Tom Bodett said they’d, “keep the lights on for you.”

Well, they might keep the lights on, but…

So on our PCS road trip, we pulled into our first motel in Ohio.

“This, Ande? Are you sure you got reservations here?” Tim asked dubiously.

Tim was very suspicious of the location I secured for our night’s rest.

“Lisa,” my friend who lives in the town, I said, “confirmed it’s a fine area. I think it will be fine.”

The boys looked across the highway and pointed to the Drury Inn while asking, “Why can’t we stay over there?”

“Because I already got a reservation here and we have a dog that I didn’t want to spend another $40 to keep in the hotel!” I said. 

I’m irritated. I’m not sure we were parked yet either.

As Tim pulled in, he glanced at the entry to the main desk. Then he looked around at the eight or 10 youngish men hanging off of the balcony trying to catch a breeze in the late June weather.

Tim left the car and locked the door. He looked across the parking lot and saw a grassy space and rows of storage units. He thought the whole atmosphere was shady. It felt very “Law and Order.”

Moments later he came back.

“We’re up there,” he said and pointed.

“Is there an elevator?” asked one of the boys.

“Nope,” he replied.

“It’s a MOTEL,” I said, irritated that my whole family was now irritated and we still hadn’t even entered the room yet.

Truth be told, as we parked, I did notice the exterior halls littered with trash and more tired-looking people trying to relax outside in the heat. I started to wonder why they were outside if they were trying to cool off. Didn’t the AC work?

We each took a piece of our over-sized luggage and hauled it up the stairs to the door overlooking the parking lot. From the doorway we could see the grassy space more clearly. We judged it an adequate place to walk the dog.

We had items on the roof rack of the car and on the hitch rack in the back.

“Well, I hope it makes it through the night,” Tim said studying the ratchet straps he used to secure the loads.

“You really think this place is that sketchy?” I asked.

“Well, it’s not your best pick,” he said.

The room definitely was the bare minimum. We didn’t have more than we paid for, that was for sure. BUT it seemed clean…ish and there wasn’t an extra charge for the dog.

Breakfast, you ask? Another way to save on the green. I chose the hotel without breakfast to save more money.  We were meeting my friend for breakfast in the morning. No need to pay extra for something we wouldn’t use.

The next morning, we got up early to check on the car. Everything was still intact! No gun shots over night. No stabbings. No vandalism. The people hanging around the parking lot were just trying to keep cool or people watch, I determined.

Feeling better, we hit the road. Not a four or five-star experience, but no bed bugs hitched a ride either. I guess I had a low bar.

Little Room of Horrors

We stayed with family for the next few days in Indiana then went on to St. Louis, Missouri where I had already made another reservation.

“I hope this one is better!” said one of the boys.

“It looks better from the outside!” said another. He followed that with, “I hope it has an elevator!”

“The ad said it has a pool!” I said trying to talk it up.

We exited the interstate and saw the white building glowing against the brown office building behind it.

Then we pulled in to the parking lot and noticed a homeless person between the office building and motel parking lots.

“We’re not using the pool,” someone said and pointed to the pool which was covered over by a tarp with some trash on it. (Ads lie too).

Undaunted, Tim went to check us in.  Moments later he came back.

“It’s not great,” he said implying he didn’t hold out much hope for the condition of our next room.

“At least it is a hotel this time,” a boy said.

Indeed. Our rooms were interior rooms. The sign on the entry door said “no smoking” but that didn’t mean NO smoking. We entered the hall and were hit by a wall of marijuana smoke.

“UGH! What’s that smell?” one of the boys asked.

“Marijuana. Also known as weed.”

“Gross! I’m never gonna do that!” he exclaimed.

“Good! Glad to hear it! Let’s hope we don’t smell it from our room,” I said.

Tim had a phone call to take. He went back outside while the boys and I were grossed out, trying to get settled in our room.

“Gross, roaches!” one of the boys exclaimed.

I looked where the boys were looking. There they were: one-and two-centimeter-long dead roaches in the bathroom, on their backs. I looked for more. There were some in the corner. As I continued to look, I kept seeing them. Yuck.

“Boys, don’t sit on the bed!” I commanded.

I pulled back my sheets to inspect for dirt. (I worked in college housing. I know about bed bugs.) No dirt… but the sheets had cigarette (or cigar or dobie) holes.

“Stay here boys,” I said storming toward the door. I was so angry.

“Where are you going?! You’re going to leave us here?” they asked in dismay.

They stared at me like I was leaving them on a dark street corner in the cold with no food or water.

 “Yes, I’m going to the front office,” I said.

And so, I did.

Hospitality at Its Finest

The conversation was delayed, as the young man ahead of me, either sleep deprived or hung over or high on something, was trying to check in using his mom’s credit card. I don’t know the whole story, but he kept looking at me every time the credit card number didn’t work and said, “sorry.”

Clouds of marijuana smoke, roaches, burn holes and a fellow customer who was seemingly high. There’s a review I didn’t see on Google!

Finally, the twenty-something behind the counter dressed in jeans and a t-shirt (let’s call him Junior) asked what I needed.

“New sheets. My room is dirty and there are burn holes in my sheets. Completely unacceptable,” I tried to remain calm as the steam started to come out my ears.

Ah yes! He whipped out the excuses and denials.

Junior said something like, “We can’t do anything about the burn marks.”

Not believing him and pointing to the sign on the wall, I said something like, “You say right there on that sign you are a smoke free facility but you most certainly are not and I was supposed to have a smoke free room which means nothing having been around smoke!”

Normally I’m not very quick on my feet, so I’m going to say the Holy Spirit came out in that moment. I also speak in run-on sentences when highly irritated.

Junior nodded and said, “Here. You’re two doors down from your other room. In room xxx.”

Junior seemed neither embarrassed nor apologetic. Mostly I think he wanted to get the irate military wife out of his hair.

I returned to our room where the boys were waiting. We started to pack things up. One boy leashed the dog. Another boy grabbed a couple suitcases.

“Where’s Daddy?” one of them asked.

“Outside. Let’s get this stuff moved and I’ll go get him,” I said.

Room Two at the Roach Hotel

“We still have roaches!” one of the boys said in despair.

The dog was already sniffing a carcass in the new room.

“At least they’re all dead!” said the other boy.

“Everyone, look at the sheets,” I said as I started to inspect my bed.

Then I looked at the boys’ bed. It looked fine.  That’s when a chorus of comments flowed out of my boys’ mouths.

“I don’t want to stay here. It’s gross.”

“Do we have to stay here?”

“Can we just leave?”

“Can I sleep in the car?”

“Why can’t we stay with Claudia?” (a friend who lived nearby)

The grumbling and complaining kept coming. I was starting to wonder if this was anything like what Moses experienced with the Israelites in the wilderness. At this point, the desert sounded more appealing than this hotel in St. Louis.

Finally, I went out to the parking lot to get Tim. I told him we were in a new room. He missed all of the fun since he had been on the phone for the last 30 minutes.

It was getting late, about 9:30 or 10 p.m.

We entered the room to more complaining.

“I’m not using that shower,” one boy declared.

“Nope! None of us are. Soldier bath and into bed,” Tim and I pronounced together.

“Maybe if we get in bed and go to sleep right now, we can wake up and get out of here sooner,” said a wise boy.

We all got in bed.

It was a horrible night’s sleep. I woke up every hour or so to check for itching. I was convinced bed bugs or roaches were crawling over my body.

Six-thirty arrived and it was the best 6:30 AM ever, even better than Christmas! We all got ready for the day as fast as possible, packed and were in the car… an hour early. Our breakfast date was 10 minutes away at 8:00 a.m.  It was only 7:00 a.m.

We happily waited in the car.

“Next time can you not be cheap? Can we stay in a good hotel?” said a boy from the backseat.

It was spoken with all sincerity.

Agreeing, I said, “Yes. Yes, I can ‘not be cheap’ next time.”

I will still look for a good deal. But I have to remember that a good night’s sleep without bugs or clouds of marijuana smoke in the hall, nor trash on the walkway are worth a little more money.

I kept my word.  The next time we stayed in a hotel, it was the longed-for Drury Inn. We all slept well. Breakfast was included.