The Room

A quick word about my accommodations, and then I need to scarf down some food before I get to my next film.

This house is old. While that in itself is not bad, I don't think much has changed since the 80's. And I don't even mean that in a good way (Mike). In fact, I'm pretty sure the towels were once liberated from a 1980's era Motel 6. There is little light, I'm afraid to close the window for fear it might just fall out, the breakfast glasses have chips in the rims and I'm afraid I'm going to slice off my lips, and I've probably inhaled at least three fruit flies at breakfast every morning. Paint and wallpaper alike are peeling off the walls, and I fear that if I use one of the provided space heaters I might send the entire house up in flames. It's a good thing I my body generates so much heat at night.

Then there's my private bath. I can only walk in about three feet before the severely sloped ceiling meets my head. It's due to this fact that the shower curtain closes around the shower head so closely -- it's a challenge, if not an impossibility, to avoid touching it. Sometimes, I feel like it's drawn to me like a sock is to a sweater fresh out of the dryer.


One of my favorite things, is this sign:

There are jokes lurking here, and I'll let you make up your own punch lines, but I should point out that there is no waste bin in the bathroom.