LIONS AND TIGERS AND BARES, OH MY

The scarecrow managed to get me to Georgia without any major incident, although he continuously blasted me with profane tales of how horrible the lion's real mother is, how much hatred he had for the entire war effort, and the level of the repulsion he had for all other drivers in general. Working himself to a state of explosion, a pain developed in his side that made him wince and proclaim that his internal organs were being squished by his freakish weight gain. My job was navigation and considering my official family nickname is Magoo, there are usually serious miscalculations in the timing but within 14 hours we landed in front of the hotel.
I really should say motel, and of the 4 in a row directly outside of the base gate, ours was probably the only one without hourly rates. I think. I had already booked and paid for a smoking room (yes, the scarecrow still nearly ignites himself constantly and I have fallen off the wagon after spending 14 hours with smokin-stein). I had my Expedia printout to hand the front desk when I realized speaking English was tough enough on the man, reading it would be asking more than humanly possible. I am sure he was nice enough, with glasses so thick that the room information held about one inch from his face did not help. He was Indian (not the native American kind, but the Bengal tiger kind) and although claiming he was from Wisconsin. (?) The room reservation was messed up, showed us a a non-smoking couple with two children. He manages to locate a phone number for the owner of this establishment, picks up the cell phone and dials. A moment later the desk phone rings, but no one replied to his greeting. He redials the cell phone to attempt to contact the owner again. A moment later the front desk phone rings, and again no one answered his greetings.
Now, I am no genius, and I have been on the road listening to ranting for 14 hours, but when he picked up the cell phone to call again, it was time to step in. I know I was harsh, and I was pointing my finger, but for heaven's sake, this should not be so difficult. He resorted to calling the desk clerk from the inn next door (note, hourly rates were advertised at that location). She came quickly, not having time to put on shoes or manage to untangle the strands of bleached hair or brush her front tooth. She too was unable to assist and offered up a paper cup with water for an ashtray. After she tried to dial the manager's number (aka the front desk phone), I gave up the fight and accepted the non-smoking room with two beds and a kitchenette. Getting this mess resolved required more energy than I had, besides my soldier was calling on my cell and we were wasting precious time.
We had agreed to pick up dinner but the ill one was going to order pizza, because she could not wait any longer. Already having consumed half the antacids that we brought with us, we advised them we could not eat the pizza, but our pleas went unheard and they ordered 4 pizzas. One plain for their 4 year old, one with sausage for the 2 year old, one with hot peppers for the soldier and one with pepperoni for mom. Now, again, I am no genius but I have never seen the need to order a whole pizza for each person, but this too would require more energy to fight than I possessed and I just gave up and ordered two salads for us.
Our soldier looked warn and tired and glad to see happy faces. The children are magnificent, and despite my frustration with their mother, she is very good at her job. They are happy and smart and smell so good! We enjoy our short time before we begin to fade and collapse in our separate beds.
Day two does bring cause for concern because we are not seeing the major heath issue that brought us here in the first place. She is on the computer, she is watching TV, and with the exception of a little stumbling around from the pain pill buzz I really do not see any problem. But if my soldier wants taken care of and his wife taken care of, I am on it. Southern Comfort came both in the liquid form and the way only a mother can give you. They drank and I baked and she played on the computer. I cleaned and they drank more and she watched TV. I loved it, every little request and errand. But the Comfort (the liquid one) caused emotion to service and our soldier's lion courage faded and he collapsed under the weight of the war and his wife. I poured the scarecrow into the mini van and headed back to the hotel before we had a full dinner. He was destroyed by the crushed lion and refused to settle into bed but chose instead to drowned his wounds at the only facility within walking distance. Jen's Big Apple. Keep in mind this is directly between the two hourly rate hotels, and advertised 'best looking broads on the boulevard'. Nice. I did not go. I chose instead to read the TV (note, no sound available). What a fun filled evening. After about an hour, that middle aged' completely polluted man stumbled back, impressed I was, that he found me, the room and the card key. Dinner, he demanded, twizzlers I handed him. But that was not sufficient, and I watched him bolt from the room, determined to cross the 6 lanes of traffic to get to a Kentucky Fried Chicken. This argument was pointless also, but i did try, and just waited for the police to come either with him, or pieces of him. The pound at the door came -and I took a deep breath - but to my surprise it was him, bags of buckets and sides and plates and biscuits! Seems he went to the front desk, found a small Indian woman that was hanging out in the lobby who actually held his hand and got them across the highway to retrieve chicken. I have to admit that it was fantastic and delicious and I was starving. As bizarre a night as it was, it ended with butter and honey, and that makes everything wonderful!