#divemotel

Our GPS announced that we had arrived at our destination, but I was not convinced. Although there were numbers on several of the doors and a couple of cars parked nearby, the weathered building did not show any evidence of being an open motel. A faded sign confirmed that we were indeed at the location where our reservation had been made, so we got out of the car and proceeded to identify which door might be the office. The first door we tried was locked. As I reached for the doorknob of the second door I stopped short when I saw it was covered with cobwebs. Through dirty windows I could see that there were people sitting at a table inside, so we went again to the first door. It still did not budge but with a swift kick to the base it opened wide, nothing like a grand entrance. We told the bartender we were there for a room. A woman sitting at the bar, smoking a cigarette, exhaled and said, “We don’t have any rooms.” My husband said we had a reservation. “Oh,” the woman replied, she told the bartender it was room #2. The young bartender kindly told us it was being cleaned and would be ready shortly. An hour later we returned and were informed that the vacuum had broke and our room was not quite ready. We ordered a couple of cold drinks and went outside to the deck which overlooked a lake. A short time later the bartender brought us the key. As I cautiously opened the door of Room #2, the smell of deodorizer masking a fishy smell was thick in the air. Always the optimist, I quickly pointed out that the air conditioner worked great and the room appeared to be clean. We quickly got ready and left for our music gig. We arrived back at the motel/bar at 12:30 and decided to go into the bar and get a cold beer. I forced the door open once again. Purple Rain was playing on the jukebox and there were about 20 people inside. At a table in the corner, we sipped our ice cold beers and sang along with Prince. The song ended and as the next song began to play a man jumped up from his barstool and led his partner to the jukebox to dance. He looked over at my husband and told him we needed to dance. Mickey never has been a big dancer but for some reason he kindly obliged and we joined several couples on the small open floor. Chris Stapleton sang Tennessee Whiskey and the music carried us away. At that moment, the shortcomings of the rundown motel faded from my mind. I was being held by my love, listening to an amazing rendition of a classic country song and my world was perfect. We slept well that night and I awoke to a peaceful view of fog rising from the calm and undisturbed waters of the lake. I left the motel that morning with a second impression, and that is the one that will last.