I awoke disoriented.
The room was strange and cool, half-lit with the blue light of dawn or dusk. The clock on the nightstand read 6:38 in a red glare so that was no help. A cramp rippled through my lower stomach, and I groaned. I remembered then that I was in a hotel in Arizona. Arizona had turned out to be the yuppie capitol of the free world, and I had found myself by and large not impressed with its flagrant and utterly demeaning standards. Being too tired, however, after driving for several days straight and in no mood to hurry back, I lowered my standards enough to spend a night at least in one of the many hotels that plagued the area like cockroach eggs. This little vacation was turning out to be a real drag.
Another cramp rippled through my stomach and I looked down. I was covered in blood. Bullshit. This was proof that Fate had it in for me. My contingency plans for my period had consisted of one pad wedged into the dark recesses and unholy of my purse. Now I would have to venture out into this sandy little hellhole for the heavy artillery.
I took a quick shower and was grateful I had packed at least one normal pair of skivvies. I am a thong type of girl, but you never know when luck would have it another way.
I locked the room up tight and looked around. The world was far too busy for it to be early on a Sunday morning, so I concluded it must be Saturday night still. Which meant at least one grocery store in the near vicinity wouldn't have a bitchy and jaded clerk working the register. Hopefully. At least, that's the way it works in the rest of the country.
I got into my beat up Mercury and cruised a few blocks in search of your run of the mill grocery store. Even yuppies needed to shop for their hemorrhoid creams and store brand corn flakes, I concluded. I tried to hate each and every individual on the way there, but soon it got too confusing, so I gave up and continued with my mission.
As luck would have it, I soon found what I was looking for. Give me a dirty old IGA with scuff-marks and outdated canned food over this halogen lighted nightmare, I prayed. No such luck, as I was thousands of miles away from the nearest New England drag where appearance meant as little as quality, which meant next to nothing. Philly was my favorite for quality shopping. It was more duck and run and don't slip on the shit coating the floor. That's my type of town.
It was, lucky for me, an in and out type of deal. I'm not saying there wasn't their fair share of idiot college kids hanging out in the beer section, but my mission was not to be interrupted. I got my shit, a bottle of mad dog 20/20 (for the cramps of course) and I was gone. No sense on being more miserable than I already was.
In the hotel room I flicked on the TV and found some quality movie with puppets in it, and downed the Mad Dog like there was no tomorrow. Loneliness is bad when you're in a room full of people who've known you all your life; loneliness in a strange land is hardcore.
I'm a cheap drunk. Two hours later, with only half the bottle gone, I was feeling rather pleasant. David Bowie was singing about how he moved the stars for no one, and I couldn't blame him. The cramps had become a pleasant roll in my lower stomach, and my breasts no longer ached quite as they had. I hate drinking, but sometimes it's the best possible alternative. However, piss warm Mad Dog is unacceptable no matter how drunk you are and it then occurred to me that I had better find some ice. Let's see if yuppie central has thought about the finer things in life.
I ambled out of my room and down the hall, not locking the door because I was pretty sure it would take me forever to get it open again if I did. I wandered about long enough to realize that if I didn't stop and think about where I was going, I wasn't going to get anywhere. I passed by Room 203 what seemed like six times before I thought about changing levels. Even a soda machine would be a fair deal I compromised. I fell up a flight of stairs, giggling at the head rush, and suddenly it occurred to me to be paranoid. I looked about, but there was no one. The feeling was there, though, like when I could feel the TV on in the next room even though I couldn't hear it. I tried to sober myself up and began in earnest to find a soda machine. It wasn't until I found it that I realized that I forgot my change in my room.
