Remember Lawton, Oklahoma and the rodeo in town?  The rodeo filling up the motel rooms in the spot along Interstate 44 where our clan returning from Oklahoma City…had agreed to spend the night.  Ah, yes.  Lawton, Oklahoma…where Mr. Sensible had a reservation at Motel 6.

See Part 1, if you’re not with us on this.  I stumbled into three more motels in desperate search for a room on the way to drop up the un-savy travellers with the Motel 6 reservation.  I followed them inside.  ”No room at the Motel 6, lady.  Rodeo in town, you know.” 

Let me say that the world I now had running in my head was unfair, uncomfy, and a mess.  The light catches the gold on the plastic Motel 6 key flaunted by Mr. Sensible and his lucky wife.  My special person and I race from motel to motel going down the order from luxury to less dangerous-looking than the others.  Lucky for my special person, he had me there to point out the flaws of each motel as we lowered our standards.  At last, one desk clerk knew of one room left.  He’d call ahead and make sure they held the accommodation.

WELL.  We hobbled up three flights of cement stairs one yard off Interstate 44 and entered our abode at the Value Inn.  My special person ignores the various tics I’ve developed along with my running update on the horrors I noticed on the walk to our room.  Once inside, he takes off his shoes, slides out of his jeans, and plops on the bed watching ESPN as I provide a blustering, item by item inventory of our circumstances.

“I can’t believe this!  How long since you’ve seen a plastic shower in the bedroom?  Oh, but look.  We have a matching plastic sink on stilts.  How can you touch that bedspread?  I see wiggly things crawling on it from here…though standing on this indoor-outdoor carpet retrieved from some fishing dock is probably more dangerous!  Check these towels, ha!  Like I’m taking a shower in this place.  How can you even see the stupid television?  How long since you’ve seen one that small?”

No answer, of course.  The man isn’t crazy.  He knows objections only feed the beast.

“I’ll never get to sleep in this rathole.  Tomorrow will be awful.  This was going to be such a fun trip and now this!”   (Usually, an escape would be possible.  I’d have gladly paid for a room for Mr. Sensible and spouse in Dallas 50 miles away, as well as paid for the fabulous (and it was looking prit-tee fabulous) Motel 6.  This solution wasn’t an option as Mr. Sensible, in order to come on the trip had flown into Dallas at 7a.m., leaving his house at 4:30a.m., based on the promise of stopping for the night in Lawton.)

While my special person watched sports scores, I complained.  The features I complained about grew larger and more disgusting as I pointed out details….single use soap sliver, plastic cups sealed in cellophane, chips around the doorframe showing a one-time break-in, rickety table (I demonstrated rocking the legs as though I’d planned on having company in for dinner and now that was ruined). “No luggage rack!” I spouting slamming my suitcase on the floor.  I threw myself on the bed.  “Just as I thought!  Mattress is a rock. These places order their mattresses from China, you know, because they last a hundred years.”

He bounced a little, but remained aloof.  His decision on how to respond to my provocative raging is important.  Part 3 in ‘Small Oklahoma Town Tradegy’ contains the single best response to a raging idiot I’ve ever seen demonstrated.  For now, he’s watching scores, foolishly oblivious to the tradgedy of our circumstances. 

Then he asks, ”So, are we going to get something to eat at that restaurant in the parking lot downstairs?” 

Outside, just beyond the marquee promising plenty of truck parking…is a Homestyle Kettle Cafe.  His question is of particular significanc since we haven’t eaten for six hours and we usually eat this late.  Also, when I’m making a point about how unfair my life is…I always refuse to eat.

Thus, I replied in a snap.  “Of course, I’m not going to eat anything from that dump.  Do you want me to spend the night throwing up into that hideous toilet… Is that what you want?”

“Not so much,” he says.  I cross my arms and stare at the television…the room, to me, is a torture chamber.  

Which is more important?  The world that exists, the one you can touch?  Or the one you are responding to?  The world you are making up in your head?”