Staying at the Red Roof Inn West Memphis was a choice made in a delirious state on a late night freeway when dodging the careening 18 wheelers had begun to feel like Russian roulette. Chances were rapidly increasing in favor in my joining the splattered bugs on their front grills and I'd missed my turn off I-40E onto I-55N when I saw the sign of The Roof. I pulled a right just past the half dozen police cars gathered around a pickup on it's roof and onto the N Ingram exit.
The helpful chatty woman working the front desk told me since I was a single woman travelling solo she'd put me into a King Room near the front of the hotel but for all the world it seemed like the backside to me. Upon entering the room the light would not turn on, which may have been for the better as when I got a lamp turned on it was sadly obvious how down on it's luck this room was. Altho the carpet appeared recently replaced, the walls were battered and the sparse furniture spattered with something white and chalky, as if someone had exploded while brushing their teeth.
I turned down the bedspread to check for stains on the sheets, which did not have stains but holes, as if cigarette burns had been clipped out.
I called in a to go order to the restaurant "Margaritas" just across the street. After 1/2 hour I ventured over and noticed, 1/2 block away, one the one of the hugest bus stations I've seen north of Mexico City. During the extra 15 minutes I sat waiting for my enchiladas the staff of Margaritas sat in the front booths chatting merrily away, occasionally enquiring to one another in spanish if anyone was cooking in the kitchen. When I finally got my food and opened it back in my hotel room, I discovered the cheese in my enchiladas not to be melted, just grated directly from the velveeta block into the tortilla and rolled up like a cigarette.
About 5 minutes after getting back to my room, there was a knock at the door. I peered out the spy hole and saw 2 men studying a sheet of paper. Seemed like nothing good could come of that so I declined to answer the door, and turned up the tv instead, wishing that my glock had not been stolen in Phoenix.
In the morning just before 6am the truckers began to get up, firing up their rigs and talking outside my window. It all came thru loud and clear as if they were right in the room with me. As the light came thru the gaps in the curtains it illuminated all the debris and refuse piled in the corners of the room. A fat lazy fly rose up and began to buzz. Tho I had gotten barely 6 hours sleep I felt it was time to go.
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- Also Known As:
- West Memphis Red Roof Inn