Posted on August 12, 2014 gordbob by Gordon White
It’s the dead of winter and my view from this week’s hotel room looks bleak. A sub-zero morning that’s brightened, but by no means warmed, by the rising sun. Today’s high is optimistically forecast to be -20C, so I guess I won’t unpack the ‘Speedo’ just yet.
This week our show is playing ‘somewhere in Ohio’… I hesitate to reveal the name of this city to protect the innocent, as this anonymous metropolis has also been dubbed ‘the armpit of Ohio’ by superior beings who obviously live elsewhere. The arena, our performance venue, is located right downtown in the city’s core, but our hotel is situated far away on the outskirts of this ‘armpit’ amongst several other hotels lined up alongside the interstate highway. Just down the road from the larger national hotel chain that we’re booked into is a small independent flophouse that’s struggling to compete for business. Their marquee is proudly advertising “Under New Management”, and, “Clean Rooms!” …Seriously? …you have to advertise that you have ‘clean rooms’??? Classy!
We arrived in this ‘Mystery City’ late Sunday evening, several hours after completing our week-long run in Detroit. The winter journey was pleasant enough onboard a warm, deluxe tour bus. Seated in every second row, we could all stretch out with 2 seats each while plugged in to ipods or watching movies on laptops, reading books or just chatting and winding down after our week of shows in the Motor City.
Our five tour buses pulled into the hotel’s freshly plowed driveway just before 10:00pm and spewed all of us out and into the small lobby. The front desk staff of two, looking like a pair of deer caught in the headlights, quickly ditched their crossword puzzle and TV remote control and sprang into action. They were welcoming and courteous enough, but their tentative hospitality smiles failed to bury their thoughts of, “WTF???”. To their credit, although emotionally and physically dishevelled, they did get us all checked in as quickly as possible.
The lucrative ‘hay days’ of this once booming, one industry town are long gone, so the rumors are that our week-long stay here is a virtual jackpot for this struggling hotel which is straining to keep afloat. This ‘jackpot’ rumor is supported by the several humongous rolls of recently purchased broadloom carpet precariously stacked up at the far end of the main hallway.
“Wooo-hoo! Finally… new carpet! One more large-group booking like this and we can afford to actually have it installed!”
The hotel’s dining room was already closed up for the day, as was room service. So, it seemed that the only game in town for food on a chilly Sunday night in Armpit, Ohio was the 24 hour family restaurant situated across the 8 lane interstate highway. No problem….an icy 8 lane interstate highway, 3 foot snow banks, no street lights…what could go wrong? Our entire group decided to trudge along the top of a bank of plowed snow like an amateur Mount Everest expedition, to cross safely at a large, controlled intersection that was a very long block away.
By the time our 3-clown posse (myself and 2 other clowns) arrived at the main entrance, the eatery was at full capacity. The meet & greet hostess, (who, oddly enough, was a spitting image of the bespectacled Roy Orbison), looked appropriately overwhelmed by this very rare Sunday night rush. Unfortunately, most of the kitchen and serving staff were sent home earlier in the evening because business was so slow…up until now! So, Roy Orbison very curtly told us that it’d be at least a 30 minute wait. “No problem”, we assured her…understanding the situation. “We’ll kill that time checking out the other Armpit, Ohio Sunday night hotspot.” … the 24 hour gas station & store across the dark, icy turnpike.
Turns out, they sell beer & wine! Hey, we’ll get some to go, for our hotel rooms. To our delight, they had a very decent selection of local craft beers in the well-stocked coolers. But the wine?…not too sure of the quality when it’s sold in one gallon glass jugs! That didn’t matter though, because the Ohio liquor laws state that on Sundays, you can only purchase beer, not wine. …Huh???…whatever.
Returning to the restaurant, we discovered that Roy Orbison had just finished her shift and already escaped tonight’s mayhem, and headed for home lickety-split…perhaps to chug a gallon of that local vino from the gas station. Too bad, as we were kind of hoping that she’d have stayed to serenade us with a heartfelt rendition of “Crying”.
One of the 2 remaining servers was now doing double duty as a harried waitress and hostess, and the only cook was conscripted to the rank of a disheveled and obviously inexperienced waiter. The ‘Hostress’…(hostess/waitress)…hurriedly flicked most of the crumbs off of a freshly vacated booth, sat us down, and we ordered up some snacks. While we waited…and waited…and…waited for our orders to arrive, others in our group were wishing us luck as they’d already been waiting almost an hour for their orders. To pass the time, we just sat back and entertained ourselves by observing some of the local yokels who were dining in the booths amongst us.
The highlight turned out to be a hillbilly family of five when their youngest toddler started choking on the grimy fistful of french fries that he was stuffing down his gullet. The entire restaurant suddenly fell silent and all eyes zeroed in on their table. While the Dad was maneuvering half of a cheeseburger into his piehole, the Mom leapt up, flipped the kid over and slapped his back, forcing the lodged globule of french-fries to eject itself and land with a muted splat on the floor. Thankfully, the child was breathing freely again and appeared none the worse for wear. The family quickly settled back in to finish their meals as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Without skipping a beat, the father beckoned the dazed hostress over and blurted out, “Can I get another side of gravy?”
The next day, a day off, we thought we’d further explore the Armpit’s tundra and seek out a grocery store. We asked at the front desk what the options were.
The clerk said, “To the left is a mall, to the right is a large grocery store”.
“We don’t have a car, are they far away?”
“Ohhh…you can’t walk there. It’s probably half a mile…or more!” …Sigh!
For dinner that night we were looking to go out and experience some authentic ‘Ohio-an’ cuisine. “Hey, what about that road house diner that advertises ‘Knife and Fork Sandwiches’?”… sounds a little tough to chew, but at least we’ll get our iron intake!
Entering through the main entrance, our appetites were momentarily smothered as we walked past some sand-filled planter boxes that were overflowing with soggy cigarette butts and empty beer cans. Surprisingly though, both the food and the service there was excellent, resurrecting some hope for our stay in this anonymous hamlet in Ohio.
Ah well, we’ll only be here for a week. At least this armpit doesn’t smell!