As I was getting some beauty sleep, I was having a dream that I cannot fully recall what it was about. I know for sure it wasn’t a sexual dream, or else I would’ve remembered that. Anyway, I was in the middle of my dream and having a conversation with some older man and all the sudden he started making this irritating loud sound. I then woke up and realized the reason he was making that annoying sound was because the fire alarm was going off in the hotel. I checked the clock and it was 1 a.m. After saying an expletive to myself, I waited a few minutes to see if the alarm was going to stop. It of course did not, so I said another expletive to myself and rolled out of bed in my jammy jams. (Picture me in Superman footsies)
I was still half asleep as I stumbled into the lobby. There were only a couple of other hotel guests that left their rooms. By the way, when did Tampa turn into Hickville? I swear every dang person in this hotel has some sort of strong southern accent. I don’t mind a southern accent every now again, but when it happens this frequently it’s a bit bothersome. Moving on, the two concierges behind the desk were giving no indication if it was a fake or real fire alarm. The concierges with their heads down repeatedly kept on picking up the phone and hanging up
without saying anything.
Watching them, I almost felt like I was stuck in some sort of nightmare because I could not figure for the life of me what the heck they were doing. A wise person probably would’ve walked up to them and asked them why the fire alarm was going off. But I was so tired and I didn’t have the strength to ask them. All I could do was stare at them with my mouth dropped open and wonder, “Why is this happening?”
Of course as I was waiting there had to be some entertainment. I already was not feeling the best because I had eaten some seafood at Best Western Hotel restaurant. Speaking of Hickville, this heavy-set Yosemite Sam looking dude rolls the lobby. He is practically dressed as a farmer, but for some odd reason he has this denim shirt on, but chooses not to button it. Therefore, his massive belly and chest are busting out of the shirt. All he had to do was just take 30 seconds of his life and button it. But for some reason he was proud of physique and decided to flaunt it to everybody. And as my mother once told me when I started developing… “If you got it, flaunt it!”
Because I was already not feeling well, the man’s appearance made me somewhat nauseous. As the concierges continued their robotic pick-up the phone and hang-up dance, fat Yosemite Sam decided to walk up to somebody to find out what was going on. And who does he choose out of the pick-up line? Any guesses? Our little innocent Jonno. As his pasty, hairy stomach jiggled my way in slow-motion - I couldn’t help, but throw up in my mouth a little bit. I felt like Judge Reinhold in that scene from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” where he watches Phoebe Cates get out of the pool. Only, this was quite the opposite effect.
|Fat Yosemite Sam|
A few minutes later, the robotic concierges finally hung up their phones and the fire alarm stopped. They of course still did not give any explanation as why the alarm went off. I think one of them might have murmured a “sorry” under their breath, but it’s debatable if that was even said. All I could do was just look at them and shake my head, with a sarcastic chuckle of, “Are you kidding me?” I know the blame can’t go solely on them for what happened, but I got a feeling they contributed somehow to the alarm debalce.
By the time I went back to my room, I was fully awake. I had to wake up in a few hours for work, so I did everything in the book to make myself fall asleep. Nothing worked. Without anymore options, I found out what room Fat Yosemite Sam stayed at and we played a game of “Truth or Dare.” Surprisingly, Fat Yosemite Sam was a fan of going for the dares. Who knew he could shove 30 marsmallows up his sphincter?