Maybe We'll Skip Marfa

So my beloved and I are embarking on a great new adventure. His part of the adventure involves going to work for one of the best companies in the world in a great job in a great locale. My part of the adventure involves the logistics of getting us there. You know, selling a house, buying a house, coordinating the move, getting the dogs and the offspring from point A to point B, a distance of a couple thousand miles.

Having plenty of experience producing things, I decided to treat the whole thing like a production. And until yesterday, I thought everything was going swimmingly.

Now, one thing that most people don’t know about me, and have never seen, is that I have a temper. It doesn’t crop up often, but when it does, it’s not pretty. And you might imagine that dealing with stupid people is like the expressway to the trigger. So yesterday I’m trying to book our hotels for our trip. I figured if we’re going to drive 10+ hours a day, we ought to try and make our overnights fun and in cool locales.

First stop? The Mystery Lights of Marfa. Now Marfa has developed a reputation as the epicenter of laid back coolness, and somewhat deservedly. It’s a pretty groovy little place. But really what makes Marfa Marfa is the people and stuff you do together. And that usually happens on the weekends when everyone comes in from out of town. During the week, it’s a bit of “hello! Is there anybody here?” kinda place.

So I call the groovy motel that I like to stay at and get what has to be the STUPIDEST receptionist in history. I really wondered how many times she heard the phone ringing and said to herself, “What’s that noise?”

At first it went well. It was the usual--date of arrival, date of departure, which room did I want, cost . . . everything looking good. Then I attempted to confirm that dogs were, in fact, allowed on the property.

“Um, yeah. Dogs are cool. There’s, like . . . a 50% deposit.”

“Oooookay. 50% of what? You website says it’s $50 per night for the dogs. So 50% of that?”

“And you’ll need to check in on the 28th. We’re all booked up on the 31st.”

WTF? That caught me completely off guard. I had said I wanted to spend one night there. The night of the 29th.

“Umm, no . . . I only need the one night. The 29th.”

“Well, there’s a three night minimum.”

And then I started to lose my temper. Because really, I all wanted was one fucking night at the cute motel in the cute town.

“BUT I’M NOT STAYING FOR THREE NIGHTS. I’M JUST PASSING THROUGH FOR ONE NIGHT. AND YOU TOLD ME YOU HAD AVAILABILITY.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to check in on the 28th, though.”

“I WON’T BE IN MARFA ON THE 28TH!!”

“But it’s a three night minimum.”

Cue the cartoon steam coming out of my ears. “Is your manager there?”

“No. Why?”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE AN IDIOT!!!!!! And I want to talk to someone who actually makes sense.”

Shockingly enough, this didn’t phase her in the least. She began again to try to explain to me that all I had to do was check in on the 28th and everything would be cool.”

I screamed into the phone, “YOU’RE CRAZY!!!!” and hung up.

My mama would be sooooo proud.