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When I was a kid my mom and I would occasionally take little overnight trips to random towns we'd never been. Just open a map find a place a few hours away and go there and see what's up. Mind you, this is before the days of the internet and GPS, and when I say a kid I'm like 8 or 9 I think?
Anyways mom opens up the map, says this little town right on the coast looks neat let's go there, and off we went. The town was neat! Little sea-side fishing village. I don't remember it super well, but I remember walking on the pier and my mom letting me spend some allowance money on Pogs and a metal slammer. I do remember that slammer, Ricky from Kindergarten, and I FUCKING KNOW YOU TOOK IT.
Anyways we conclude our tour of the pier and start looking for hotels and not a single room is available. There's several hotels in the town, but they're all booked up, turns out the little fishing village is busy like one week a year for some annual get together and this is that week. People were kind, calls were made, and a room was found at a local motel on the edge of town.
The carpet was sticky. The carpet was sticky. The tub was covered in some kind of dirt and/or stain that was gross enough for my mom to tell me to just skip showering. We slept, clothed, on top of the blankets and laid down towels to walk on the floor. My mom says she thinks it was an "hourly" motel, when she thinks back on it.
After that any time we took an "adventure" like that she made sure to find a room when we first go to the place rather than the end of the day lol.
FU Ricky!