Room 1200

It had been a long day; no make that a long two days. Excruciating. I hurt from my feet to lower back. When we got back to the hotel, all I wanted to do was relax. Unwind. Chill out. I had bought a cigar on the Wharf from a pompous owner of a generic company called STOOGIES. It was the best I could do on short notice and limited knowledge of the city. The family owned brand from the Canary Islands would have to work.

I waited for the right moment and after two days of touring I was ready to smoke. Faith was passing out in her bed; Kellee was putting on her nightgown and getting ready to settle in for the night. So, I made my way out to the patio with a Pepsi in one hand and my cigar in the other. We had a first floor room which was nice because the patio was open and led to the walkway and around to the pool; not that we used the pool but it was nice to know that the option was available.

Kellee stepped out to the patio and pulled up a chair, she was in her nightgown but it a quite dark morning and no one was stirring. I lit my cigar and filled my mouth with an aroma full of succulent cancer. It wasn’t the greatest cigar and I was sure that I would not finish it, but for the moment it was doing the trick. Everything was peaceful. I was beginning to relax from a strenuous day of exploring. Then Kellee went over to the sliding door to slide it closed just a little more so that the smoke would not seep into the room (though the smoke was blowing the other way and not affecting her or the room). All of the sudden I hear from behind me the sliding door close and a quick sudden ping; stress just swelled up again. Unbeknownst to Kellee the sliding door had a hair-trigger pin that automatically delivered itself into the pre-drilled hole at the top of the slider, ultimately locking us out.

We left the Key cards inside the room. This meant that I would have to go and humble myself before the Honorable and Holy Hotel Host. I suppose I should back track and tell you that before I ever cut the tip of my cigar, I had gone and complained to his Holy Host, the Ruler of the Best Western about my living conditions; there was no cable for the internet, The movie channels (HBO and Showtime) were not available as promised, and the air conditioning was not working (though it was only 66 degrees outside). So, I made a small stink and the all-knowing 18 year old tried his best to make the accommodations work, all the while doing his best to hide his frustration that came from me disturbing his night. He had his security guard still a cable for me from another room and promised to have the air fixed in the morning, unfortunately he couldn’t fix the cable TV which was alright with me, since all I really cared about was the sports channels. Everything was agreed upon, the stink was made and cleared up.

Now, here I had to walk back to the throne-counter and ask permission to have a new key (hopefully without being charged). I told the 18-year-old Best Western Night Manager-Guru my predicament. His eyes scoffed, his lips tightened and turned to a grin...the grin of power. He knew he had me and he was going to flex his mighty benevolent hand out to me, giving me a new key. There would be no more complaints. I was beaten.

I walked back to the door, ready to drift into dreams. I put my new key into the slot and pushed the door; Nothing… Nothing happened. I tried it again, again, again. A yellow light came on, not the green, everything-is- ok- go-ahead-and-enter-light, I was expecting. His highness gave me a faulty card! So I made the trip back and told him that it wasn’t working. In annoyance he gave me another one. That one wasn’t working either; something was dreadfully wrong. And then I remembered I locked the top security latch of the front door as well.

Panic was settling in, I was beginning to worry about my daughter. What if she woke up and we weren’t there? Would she start screaming? What if she hit her head or fell off the bed? Quickly as my tired feet would take me, I went back to the front counter and told him about the latch. Our eyes met, I could see it for the first time, his all-knowingness was beginning to wane, and The Best Western Night-King was unsure what to do. So he sent his trusty security guard.

Now the night watchman was of African roots and he himself sounded like Bob Marley. He too could not get the door to budge and kept going around and round with the Night-King about giving him the master key. The leader of the Western finally admitted that he did not know where this mysterious key was located and was not sure if such a device existed or was only a myth that one told weary travelers who could not get into their rooms. So, they called the voice. I’m not sure who the voice is, but the voice knew where this mythical key could be located…in the front drawer behind the Night-King's counter.

Security-reggae man grabbed a tool that was designed to pop these locks. We went to the barred door and he fumbled with the lock while I looked for elvish writings. The door was finally opened part way (by the master key, not by my finding elvish riddles). We jammed, pushed, tugged, pressed, and scrapped the security latch all to no avail. This was a new lock. Its youthfulness would not give sway. It was doing its duty and standing firm.

I was getting worried. My wife was waiting on the porch in the cold, my daughter asleep and alone. If she woke and was afraid or distressed I would most certainly have to break the window or door. It had been over an hour and we were hitting the 2 o’clock hour. I was considering a locksmith.

Then Jah-security decided that this tool was of no use and would get the tool of his youth while running wild in the shanty towns; a tire iron. He came back and wedged the bar into the sliver slot and pried, pried, pried. The youthful lock was bent and battered and in another second popped off its hinges. We both chuckled at how easy the lock came off and shook congratulatory hands. I was grateful to the shantytown security man for reconnecting me with my family and he was grateful that I gave him something interesting to do for the evening.

Kellee and I walked into our room 1200, relieved that the ordeal had come to an end. We turned on the lights and went over to give Faith a kiss…then we both inhaled and forgot to exhale for a minute. Faith was gone! I looked behind the curtains and under the bed. Kellee checked the Bathroom. Nowhere. I started to panic, panic, panic. My worst nightmare was coming true. Then we both noticed the pillow at the bottom of the bed under the blankets. Relief with it sighs came when we pulled back the sheets and found her fast asleep.