Propriety at The Safari Inn
The proprietors take a stand.
It’d been a good holiday weekend for The Safari Inn – Covid nearly did it in for the Klumpes, and every long weekend they were near capacity helped them breathe a bit easier.
Dilly was going over the Thanksgiving Weekend receipts while Arch consulted the room cleaning schedule for the rest of the week. He’d given the staff the day off today -- it would be a quiet week, and he was considering who might want a few extra days off.
Two weathered cars pulled in at the same time in front of the office, and when one of the drivers exited, Arch instinctively checked his wallet – the visitor had “seedy” written all over him. It was just a sense anyone in the hospitality business grew in developing economic self-preservation skills.
Maybe it was the aviator sunglasses. Maybe it was the bad comb-over (philosophical question: has there ever been a GOOD comb-over?). Perhaps it was the sweat leaking from the comb-over on a chilly 35-degree December morning.
Regardless, Arch leveled his eyes on the visitor’s as he entered – and kept them there. “Howdy,” he greeted, non-committally.
“Yessir, howdy do?” Arch could see patent leather white shoes, but knew if he looked from the visitor’s eyes to the shoes, the giggles would commence.
The stranger hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Me ‘n’ Shaundra – “something stuck in his throat, and he back tracked – “Me ‘n’ my wife was wantin’ to know…if you…well, if you have any kind of hourly rate?”
Bingo, thought Arch.
“Hourly rate? Can’t say as I’ve ever heard about an HOURLY rate for a motel in these parts.” He spied the tags on both cars – from Franklin County, one down from Tullahoma, but Arch couldn’t resist. “You ‘n’ Shaundra must be tuckered all together, ain’t ya? You two been all night on the road?”
Comb-Over nodded so vigorously a few choice strands fell over his face. “Yeah, we been all night…from, ah, from Biloxi, wanted to git up to Knoxville, couldn’t drive another minute. Still hopin’ to get there by early afternoon.”
Arch nodded slowly, knowing that Comb-Over knew Arch knew it was all a bunch of happy horseshit. “Naw, we just can’t go around rentin’ out rooms by the hour.” He shook his head ruefully. “I mean, IMAGINE the class of customer we’d attract, now. Fornicatin’ kids left ‘n’ right, you know? Every kind of sinful shame-faced creetin with an itch between his toes bringin’ who know WHAT kind of social disease to our fair city?”
Arch cast a wide smile over the counter at the man and shook his head. “Full room rate is all I can do, even for the weariest of travelers. Even Joseph and Mary found succor –“ he placed his hand reverentially over his heart. “Never let it be said The Safari Inn turned away a stranger in need.”
Comb-Over breathed a dramatic sigh and nodded, then turned and waved to the second car. The occupant exited her vehicle and came in as Arch turned his attention to the computer screen.
“Very good. Welcome to the Safari Inn. May I have your name, please?”
Comb-Over placed his hands on the counter and drummed his fingers. “Smith. Mr. and Mrs.”
Arch smiled brightly, typing away. As the office door closed, he glanced up. “Ah, and here’s your lovely wife Shaundra now!”
The woman, the aroma of stale tobacco oozing from her pores, glared at Comb-Over. “Shau – Jesus Christ, Lem, I done TOLD you –” and back-handed her beau. Another two strands of hair fell forward.
Arch raised his eyebrows innocently. “Ma’am, is there a problem?”
Comb-over’s lady-friend reached into a rhinestone clutch and drew out a pack of Salems. They were both sweating bullets now. “I took a day off for THIS,” she spat as she began to light up.
Arch interrupted and pointed to a sign above. “Positively NO smoking in The Safari Inn”.
The lady glared at Arch, then threw the pack, the single, and her sky-blue matching Salem lighter back in her purse. Arch printed the paperwork, then directed Comb-Over where to sign. “About three hours.”
Comb-over began signing and then froze. “What?”
Arch looked up. “To Knoxville from here. About three hours.”
“Oh.”
The Smoker looked at Comb-over. “Knoxville? What the hell is he talkin’ about?”
Arch interrupted, “And as the NEW proprietor of The Safari Inn, I wanted to assure you, unequivocally, that we have taken great pains to correct anything you might have seen on Yelp.”
Both of the visitors looked up. “Huh?”
Arch spread his hands and shook his head. “Oh, I should have kept quiet, but we believe honesty IS the best policy. You see, the previous owner was jailed – yes. Several customers complained. Said they discovered cameras and microphones hidden in their rooms. Invasion of privacy. He’s serving hard time now.” Arch then smiled. “We still OCCASIONALLY find a camera hidden. On a head board. In the ceiling…”
Arch brought his hands together and shrugged his shoulders, indicating, “What can you do?”
Comb-over placed the pen on the counter and looked at Arch. “You know, I believe I just got my second wind.” He grabbed his companion and began turning her towards the door. “I think we’ll make Knoxville by noon after all, right, dear?”
His friend struggled, yanking her arm away from him. “Knoxville? The HELL is up with Knoxville??”
Arch called out, “So shall I cancel the transaction, then?”
Comb-over was shoving his lady friend through the door as if with a plunger. “Yessir! Sorry about this!” The door closed behind him as he directed his friend to her car and climbed behind the wheel of his own.
Arch shook his head, then wandered back to Dilly’s desk and sat in the chair beside it. His wife’s eyes were glued to her computer screen as she commented, “Jeez, first one of the month.”
Arch opened up a can of Sundrop and took a pull. “These sport fuckers seem to come all days of the week lately.” He shook his head.
Dilly glanced at her husband. “Clever. I heard what you did there. Glad you chased ‘em away, though.”
Her husband burped. “Hell yes. Plus I gave Consuela the day off. She’s the only one can fit in the hazmat suit to clean up after folks like that.”
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