Somethin' Bad's Goin' Down at the Comfort Inn

I need you to know upfront that this kind of entertainment does not come down the pike very often. You can pay $8.75 if you'd like for entertainment theatre, but I assure you, even Meryl Streep on her best day could not pull off this kind of drama.

If it's your first time here you will quickly come to learn I pride myself on some IBS stories. It's just my thang I guess you could say.

Oh, and also I have no life.

So this story took place two summers ago. "Two summers ago? How do you even remember back that far, Melissa?" Because dear friend, when something this traumatic happens to you, you tend to put it in ye' ol' vault, knowwhatI'msaying?

So there is something that I do in the summer, you will probably object, that's fine, I still do it, not gonna stop. I sneak into hotel pools. I've done it since I was 14 years old and my cousin Randy Jean taught me how - so if you have a problem with it, take it up with her.

Of course I've come a long way since those days with Randy. I now carry around hotel room keys from various trips I've been on in case I needed to flash one; ya know, make it look real. I also carry with me a plain white towel. Hello? That's basic Hotel Room Basics 101. And I've perfected my response should anyone ever ask to see my key or know what room I'm staying in:

(Scenario 1: The "Make a Scene" Scenario) "Uh, no. You may not see my room key. You pervert. I've seen Dateline. Like I'm gonna tell you I'm in room 815 so you can come in and KILL me later? I don't think so! How would you like me to go to management and tell them about you? You crazy serial killer."

(Scenario 2: The "Answer a Question With A Question" Scenario) "Uh, yes, I'm staying in this hotel. Are you staying in this hotel? Yes, I'm from out of town. Are you from out of town? Yes, I'm allowed to use this pool. Are you allowed to use this pool?

(Scenario 3: The "My Husband Is An Attorney And He Suggested I Use This One" Scenario) "You'd like to see my room key? Well, I'd like to invoke my 4th Amendment Rights."

But never, in all my hotel room research, did I ever account for the fact that I do suffer from incurable, debilitating bouts of IBS that can only be remedied with some immediate relief and a cold washcloth. What was I supposed to do if I got "the fever" when I was at a hotel pool? Huh? Never even crossed my mind.

And then it happened....Summer. 2007. The Comfort Inn.

To make matters worse, Remi was with me. She was just over a year old, but anyone who's anyone knows that when you take a child (doesn't matter if it's one child or 4 children) you carry everything but the kitchen sink with you to that pool. They might get hungry. They might get thirsty. They might get too much sun. They might get a tooth. They might need a float. They might need a hat. They might need a Chik-fil-A nugget. They might need a nap.

I think you get the picture.

Needless to say on this particular day, my hands were full.

So when the moment finally came I knew that the only choice I had was to get out of that pool or do some heavy duty explaining to maintenance. But just exactly where are you supposed to go when there is no bathroom available to you and time is NOT on your side?

Suddenly I saw it. The cleaning lady. She was cleaning rooms on the bottom level. She was doing three rooms at a time and I could easily sneak into one without her ever knowing. Right?

Wrong.

And now comes the part of the story that is....how you say...awkward.

Because for the next 15 minutes I sat motionless in a locked bathroom, of a hotel room I had not paid for, at a hotel I had snuck in to, while a Mexican cleaning woman knocked - no, beat - on the door, speaking words that I never heard in my 11th grade Espanol class. To make matters worse - soooooo much worse - I wouldn't respond to her. I couldn't.
I was mortified.
And sick.
So so so sick.
And did I mention mortified?

So while she beat on the door yelling what I can only imagine was, "Help, there's another homeless man in the bathroom!" in Spanish, I sat inside the bathroom, locked up, hands over my face (and nose), and a baby on my lap.

That's right, folks. You didn't think I left her at the pool did you?

So all the while the "homeless man" has blockaded himself in the bathroom, he's also taken an infant hostage. I could just imagine Channel 5 bursting in the room at any moment.

And that, my lovelies, is really where the story ends. There was not dramatic ending. No shootout. Or hostage negotiations. Eventually she did bring in her friend Margarite - who also spoke no English, but did at least seem not to yell quite so much - and I knew that I was eventually going to have to walk out of that bathroom. It would be The Comfort Inn Walk of Shame. Sure, there was a good chance I would be arrested, but at least I would be arrested without the cold sweats and gurgling noises. And if they wanted to arrest a woman with IBS and her baby, then so be it! If Guantanamo Bay is full and I'm all they can come up with to arrest then fine - off with my head!

So without any pride left at. all. I walked out of the Comfort Inn bathroom. Both women stopped talking and looked at me, "What? It's a woman? In a swimdress? With a baby and Chik-fil-A nuggest in her hand? This is who's been locked up in the bathroom? This is who we've been yelling at?"

And without a word I walked out the door of room 119 and got into my car.

Remi actually waved and said, "Bye, bye."

Apparently they understand "bye, bye" because they waved back. All while their mouths hung open. But the silence....oh the silence. It was the silence that made it the most awkward.

Well, the silence and I'm sure they resented the fact that there would be much janitorial work to be done over in that there bathroom.