Bobby Jones, I beg your forgiveness
I spent last week in Augusta, Ga. It was fine, if a little boring. My hotel was fine, but in a good location and it had a nice fitness room with a decent bike so that I could get in a few miles during my trip. At the end of the week I drove the 400+ miles home so that I could see my family for a day, and then turned around on Sunday and drove back to Augusta to for another week of work. Apparently though, I have somehow offended the patron saint of Augusta, Mr. Bobby Jones, and he is exacting a terrible vengeance against me. This is what has happened to me since Friday evening:
- Two hours into my drive I documented this close encounter with some of Ned Beatty’s tormenters from Deliverance.
- About an hour from home after a pretty uneventful drive the skies opened up and it rained approximately 39 inches a minute. I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of me and it was a white knuckle drive the rest of the way. Didn’t think much about this at the time, but in retrospect it was just a warning shot across the bow.
- On the ride back, I stopped for coffee about half way through my trip, and immediately dumped it all in my lap 15 seconds after pulling out of the Dunkin Donuts. (To be fair, I do this fairly often, but I’m still blaming you for this one, Bobby.)
- I arrived in Augusta without incident, looking forward to a ride on the bike to stretch my legs out and then a scalding hot shower. When I got to the hotel, however, it turns out that, despite my having a reservation and a confirmation number, the hotel was apparently sold out and there was literally no room at the inn. The nameless hotel, and by that I mean Candlewood Suites, was living the old Jerry Seinfeld routine in that they have apparently mastered taking the reservation, but have yet to figure out how to hold the reservation. And really, that’s the most important part of the reservation. The holding. Let’s work on that, shall we?
- The Candlewood booked me a hotel (and paid for the first night) around the corner that is, quite literally, on the other side of the tracks. You do have to love it when your first sight upon entering the hotel is a workman on a ladder halfway in the ceiling saying, “Aw yeah, you’ve got a pretty major leak here.” Awesomesauce.
- After dropping my bags off, I ventured back out to the grocery store to pick up some supplies, including six bottle of delicious Terrapin Hopsecutionner beer, which I promptly dropped in the parking lot of the hotel, shattering all of the bottles wasting 72 ounces of Athens, Ga.’s finest liquid export. I’m fairly sure that is an offense punishable by jail time. If not, it probably should be.
- Ok fine, I’ve spilled the beer, so I’m going to go down to the fitness room and ride the bike that is incidentally not quite as nice as the bike at my original hotel but still serviceable, only to find a big “out of order” sign on the not quite as nice bike.
- So, no biking tonight, so I’m going to just get a shower and read the rest of the night until Colbert comes on (he’s doing an entire hour with Radiohead, so I’m definitely staying up to watch.) But guess what? Remember that repairman from last night talking about the leak? Turns out that the water in the hotel is now off, hopefully for “about an hour of so” while they work on the leak.
- Oh, and btw, the hotel wifi that was screaming along earlier today is now crawling at 1/4 dial up speed, preventing me from uploading pictures and possibly keeping this plea for help from going public. Spooky.
That brings me to now, balled up in the corner, rocking back and forth and trying to write this post without electrocuting myself or accidentally dumping a bottle of water on my laptop. So I’m issuing this official plea and apology to you, Mr. Jones. I’m sorry, so very, very sorry. I’m not quite sure what I did – perhaps I didn’t pay proper homage to your town (which by the way is the greatest place on the entire planet). Or maybe it was the fact that I made fun of the fact that one of the local TV stations here has a weekly showed called “This Week in Softball” (“a fast paced look at the world of softball” – and no, I’m not kidding). Whatever it was, I apologize and beg your forgiveness, Mr. Jones. If I need to make a pilgrimage to Amen corner or your grave site to lay an offering, just give me a sign. (Please just call call off the dogs and let me get a shower!
Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just a bad couple of days.