make it funky

This weekend, I had the esteemed privilege of spending a night in the accomodations of the Microtel Lake Norman. If you have an imagination about you, you may well have an inkling to the expectations of a room whose rate is perhaps a third of the standard rate going these days. Still, my mother was in an art show and her hosts gave her a discount... it was a roof over our heads, a bed to rest our weary bodies, and an experience.

Mom started off the day with a feat of attempted messing with my head. She described the peculiarities of the inn, stopping always to tell me to wait and see. When I suggested the procurement of a room deodorizer, she dismissed me quickly with an, "Oh, no! I'm into it." It being the faint smell of sausage, though no sausage would be found anywhere on premises. The aroma of stale curry in the hallways also provided no hinting as to its whereabouts.

When you have been standing in 90+ degree heat in the company of yuppies and hippies, and enough blonde pregnant women and their little blonde kids, you want to find yourself in a happy place at the end of the day. My first clue was the icicle lighting across the front gable of the Microtel: it's June, people. Standing in the lobby were coin machines hearkening back to the early 1980s, still offering plastic eggs filled with treats, including "metal" jewelry recently recalled for its dangers to children. I should have bought the damn thing out. Inside, we found the patriarch of the family lounging with his sons. They were courteous and friendly, with eyebrows like catepillars. This is a family owned establishment, and the degrees of separation from mother India were quite apparent. The owner's grandparents clean your room for you, make the bed. I was harassed for carrying too many bags and an extra pillow. The lone elevator took us to the third floor, although I cannot explain to you the structural elements making it possible for the building to stand atop spindly columns and a parking lot. Purple carpeting. Odd ice maker. Curry. Lots of curry. Darkened hallway to the room.

You know you're in another place in time when the sink is in the room with you. New amentities: unplugged microfridge, television. Everything else looks like Michael Douglas in 1989. Wall to wall glass above the beds. A single, humming, gridded, neon light. Floating vanity between the beds, mounted on the wall. Combination desk/chest/tv table features a chair rolled right out of 1972 and recovered with a gray matter replete with a suspect stain. My favorite? Toss up between the shower curtain that probably shouldn't be exposed to water, the leaky comode, or the zinger... a windowseat. Not just any windowseat, mind you: an elevated windowseat above a vibrating a/c unit. You know, so you can look at the back of a strip mall outside. At first I was certain we were back in time, about 15 years. Then it became clear. This Microtel in Lake Norman was actually a porthole into the Pakistani/Indian border. Westernization only goes so far. To about 1985. Somebody'll sell somebody's cousin a television or a computer, but that's about it. Close your eyes and the curry just takes you there. Aaaaah. Yeah, I'm into it. What a blast.