The Twenty Eight Minute, 5-Minute Freewrite ~ Day 583: Sunday

P1480374-1 FINAL 344kb.jpg

~Sometimes, You Just Gotta Finish The Story~

Sunday's Prompt: Rate

“A hundred fifty dollars. A NIGHT! That's nuts. We called in January, and it was only thirty three !”

The lady behind the counter of The El Sirocco Motor Lodge eyed us with a wary, exceedingly tired stare. “That was January, this is March. It's spring break. Start of tourist season. Our prime time. The rate is one hundred fifty a night. Take it or leave it.”

I glanced around the room, and out the huge, front, plate-glass window. The blue neon sign flickered with the bugs in feigned exhaustion, out by the palm next to Road-A1A. From what I could see, the two story motel had seen it's 'prime' somewhere around 1952. The ladies raspy voice broke in, derailing my weary train of thought, “you interested, I gotta get back to bed.”

I thought my buddy Jeffy Bear was going to pop something important, deep within his short, stocky frame. But “that's NUTS ” was all he could come up with again, at four in the morning, after our marathon, seventeen hour drive from Illinois. And a MUCH-needed break from the college routine. It was Spring Break, and we craved the rest and relaxation from the daily grind of school, on the sandy shores of eastern Florida.

“OK, we'll take it,” I huffed, as we fished wads of cash from our jeans pockets, and plopped it down on the Formica counter in front of us. The exhausted manager in her night dress went on, “five person occupancy maximum, no pets, no food or alcohol allowed. And there's a security deposit of $100. Refundable when you leave the room in good stead at the end of the week.”

“WHAAAT! Another hundred ?” I thought Jeffy would really blow a gasket on that one. But we fished out more bills, and made a mental note to hit up the other nine guys, hiding in plain sight in the two cars out back, for their share of the extra. Seemed like highway robbery to me. But I suppose that's the price you pay for paradise, when you are a down and out college kid on Spring Break.

~ § ~

I shoved my Chemistry books under the bed, and searched out a spot to crash on the lovely, 1960's carpeted floor. Studying would be difficult in this atmosphere, but I was sure I could find a quiet corner of the room during the day to 'hit the books'. Why DO they always schedule a mid-term exam, right after spring break? I'm sure it's some sort of plan from the folks that 'be', in the tall towers of higher learning. The ones that DON'T get to drive to Florida, and guaranteed fun in the sun for a whole week during dreary, Midwest March. Sour grapes die hard in the rarefied air of academia.

I soon dozed off, with someone's foot way too close to my head for comfort. Accompanied by lofty dreams of fully balanced equations, and happy, C6H12O6 molecules cavorting on the beach with bikini clad coeds, searching out shiny, Sp3 valence shells in the surf. Ah, true paradise found.

~ § ~

Little did we know then, that by the end of the week there would be fourteen of us in the tiny, spartan room. All packed in like college-age sardines. Continually bribing the motel handyman with six packs of Miller High Life, so he wouldn't turn us in. Yes, things were a bit tight. With 'guest' number eleven 'in for the night' sleeping soundly in the bathroom, right next to number twelve, usually propped up in the bathtub. But that was a far-cry better (?) than pokey guest number thirteen and fourteen. THEY had to sleep on the beach.

And though sleeping in the sand next to the surf SOUNDS gloriously romantic, it's not exactly that. At least in this part of the world. The night beach experiences a temperature swing of about 80 degrees between noon and midnight. I should know. Jeffy and I were often number thirteen and fourteen, NOT 'in' for the night. And except for that one run-in with the law at three AM, for “illegally camping on the beach”, things went swimmingly well during our stay on the beach. (If you can classify laying in a sandy depression, dug down so you're theoretically invisible from the road, as 'camping'.)

The local surf police let us go in the end, without a fine, if we promised to not come back again. Finally finishing up our 'talk' with one last, exceedingly stern admonishment: “and take your box of Cocoa Puff's with you, when you go! ”

We grabbed our cereal, and went. Back across A1A to the El Sirocco Motor Lodge. We set up night-shop on the cushy chaise lounge chairs by the chilly, “Heated Pool”, covered ourselves from the breezes as best we could with some leftover beach towels from the deck, and smiled at one another in the pale blue, neon light. This was the life! Good friends, tropical night air, half a box of Cocoa Puffs left, and Chemistry books, still stuffed under the bed from day one. Ah, Spring Break in paradise. It doesn't get much better than this.