Bnb’s are a horror show

A tale from early days of life as a touring performer

Once upon a time dear reader,

I used to travel for work.

As a performer, I’d spend weeks on the road, roaming from motel to hotel, from one small town to the next.

I quite liked staying in a hotel. I was working in theatre so that meant we were on a budget. This meant that most of the places I stayed were dumps.

The beds all featured mattress gullies that would make the Grand Canyon blush. And recently?

Some rooms once permitted smoking as such these hotels all had that 1980’s rat bag hotel smell - a fine combination of pine-sol and mothballs.

Their polyester curtains may have obscured the view of my hwang as I danced naked in front of the mirrors, but they certainly did not block out the light.

In short? They were delightful.

Usually found in some long abandoned ‘downtown’ district I could come and go with relativize anonymity. On top of that, I had plenty of time alone to either watch terrible cable television or phone home to my ever suffering wife left alone to tend to a newborn or t…