Monday Night in Eureka

Or, How I almost got lucky in a small northern California town

After days in the wilderness I was looking forward to getting a hot shower and spending some quality time at a laundromat. I checked into the Red Lion hotel off 101. Oooh and they have a hot tub. I love those things. I checked in, took a hot shower and changed into my last set of clean clothes. I found the local laundromat and got the salt, sand, and pine needles out of my clothes.

When I got back to the hotel I sat in the hot tub for a while. It was wonderful to get warm again. Camping on the beach leaves a cold that seeps into my bones.

I went to the hotel lounge for dinner and a glass of wine. It was getting pretty late, but the kitchen was still open. I was on my second micro-brew (the wine selection was a wee bit limited) when I struck up a conversation with a couple of girls that sat down next to me. I guess the entertainment options for Eureka are pretty limited – and the Red Lion lounge has a pool table and some pinball games. Anyway, they were pretty drunk and they insisted on buying me another beer. The blonde that took the barstool next to me put her hand on my thigh and proceeded to flirt with me in a very unsubtle way. I suggested some fresh air,. She asked if I was staying at the hotel. I said I was. She pressed up against me and suggested going back to my room.

Wow. OK this kind of thing does not happen to me very often. And something in the back of my mind was wondering if I was going to be paying for this. And not in a figurative karmic sort of way. I was wondering if she was – well – a professional. OK, so I can’t just go and ask “Hey, by the way, are you a hooker?” If she’s not, then I’m screwed (or not – uh - you know what I mean) I figured if she asked for money I’d beg poverty and let her know I misunderstood – and please leave. I’m not morally opposed to prostitution. It just isn’t what I wanted to spend my pennies on tonight. Actually, I wasn’t even sure that I wanted her tonight. But, then again, she is kinda cute – and I’m kinda weak. Besides - cute, drunk, blonde, and slutty is a very rare and special combination not to be passed up.

We got to my room. We stood by the bed and she kissed me. I excused myself to the bathroom. You’ll see what a bad idea this was in a minute – but I just had 3 pints of beer, nature calls. When I came back, she was lying on the bed. Snoring very loudly. I shook her shoulder, but there was no response. She had passed out. Oh, well – now what? I thought it best to let her sleep it off.

Then she started to wretch. Oh, crap – one of the top ten reasons not to bring a drunk girl back to your hotel room. I rolled her on her side as quickly as I could and tried to hold her head over the side of the bed – and I kinda made it. But there was spew on her shirt – the bedspread – and the floor. She finished and was still blissfully oblivious.

I tried to clean up as best I could. I took off her shirt and rinsed it in the sink. Balled up the bedspread and put it in the bathroom. For the floor, after some lame attempts I went and found the night maintenance guy – it was about midnight. He had a carpet shampooer, which he brought up and we cleaned the carpet. He was pretty unfazed. I’m guessing this has happened before. She slept through it all.

Once the room was clean, I took her shoes, socks, and jeans off and pulled a blanket up over her. I was really looking forward to a good night’s sleep in a big old bed – but… Hmm. It didn’t seem right. I folded myself into the undersized couch in the room and tried to sleep.

At 4:00 a.m. since she hadn’t gotten sick again, and since I was really tired – and not able to sleep in the sofa – I climbed into bed. I usually sleep “au naturale”. But I wore some boxer-briefs (it seemed the gentlemanly thing to do) and a long sleeve tee shirt (to hide the big scar on my left arm - no one wants to wake up to that)

“Oooh,” she moaned (and not in a good way) and woke me up. She rolled over and yelped. She literally yelped when she saw me. But I think that hurt her head. Her eyes opened wide with surprise. She looked under the sheet at herself (I’m guessing to see what her state of dress/undress was) “OK, this never happens to me. Where are my clothes?”

I groaned from being woken. “Your pants are on the chair, your shirt is hanging in the shower – it’s probably still wet.”

“Oh god” she said with real panic in her voice. She wrapped the blanket around herself. She didn’t really need to, she did have a bra and panties on. She grabbed her jeans and shoes and made a beeline for the bathroom. She closed and locked the door. After a few minutes she opened the door and called out “Can I take a shower?”

“Sure” I called out. “Can I join you?” I added too softly for her to hear. She was way more fun when she was drunk. She slammed the bathroom door and locked it again. I needed to pee.

20 minutes later she came out. I was sitting on the bed. She was wearing her shirt – which was very wet. It looked like it was freshly washed. Guess I missed a spot. She moved toward the door without turning her back toward me – as if I might try to attack her or something.

“Can I drive you somewhere? Do you want to go get some breakfast?” I asked her

She snatched her purse off the table and ran out the door.

“I have an extra toothbrush, if you want it” I called out – probably too softly for her to hear.

I never even got her name.

Women. I’ll never understand them.