4 of 6

Write now Article Tools

Page 2 of 6

I even dealt with someone as repugnant as Glommy. I have no plausible explanation, except that it was no small act of charity. Also, I have an annoying
tendency of wanting to think the best of people. Regardless, he was destined to join us on this journey.
The morning of departure was a scorcher. Craig and I were slightly hung-over, having celebrated the night before in anticipation of the event. Regardless, our spirits were high as we hit the road. The drive exceeded five hours.

We pulled into Wildwood at around 3:00 p.m., the festival scheduled to begin in less than four hours.
"This town is dead," I said - apprehensively observing the barren, sun-bleached streets.

Danny was upbeat, "Relax, Lena - everyone must be at the beach! It'll be mobbed when you cats start rockin' !"
We entered a pub to use the restroom. Gathered at the bar, we agreed that finding a motel was imperative.
Once everyone had freshened up', my attention was drawn to Glommy's knapsack, propped forlornly on a barstool - its owner nowhere in sight.
We checked the restroom and searched the unfamiliar streets surrounding the pub for nearly an hour. True to form, Glommy had succeeded in surpassing even my bleakest expectations of him. In the time required to take a leak, he had simply vanished in the midst of this strange town - less than a couple of hours prior to "show-time".
"It's like losing your kid in Disneyland!" Danny exclaimed, "Where do you look for him? On the flume'?"

"ENOUGH!" I finally announced, exasperated. "Let's just find shelter! If that jerk never shows up, so be it!"
My hangover suddenly kicked in with startling force. I was panicking - in dire need of a nap and a shower - a remarkably unattractive state for me. Catching a glimpse of myself in the van's side window, I shuddered involuntarily.
The search for a motel became a quest. There were hundreds of motels in town - all full. We were repeatedly turned away. The pavement seemed to waver in the glaring sun.
Our last hope was a decrepit Victorian mansion. A man who looked to be 100 was sitting on the porch beneath a sign which proclaimed: "THE MAYFLOWER".
"Please, Lord," I muttered as we pulled up.
As I climbed the front steps, a woman emerged from inside. She looked slightly younger than the other guy.
"Hello." My smile felt like a grimace and I hoped I wasn't scaring her. "Would you have any rooms available?"
"What do you need?" She spoke slowly, voice crackling, her eyes darting past my shoulder to the van. Craig, Danny and Rick

• << previous page
• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5
• 6
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Humor: Musicians?
We want to hear your view. Write now!