I finally had a somewhat strange Halloween experience of my own.
I had an interview in Bradley, Illinois on Tuesday at noon. This quiet little town is only about an hour south of Chicago, but I didn’t want to take the chance of driving down Tuesday morning and getting caught in horrible traffic, or getting hit by a blimp or something. So I decided to get a room in Bradley for Monday night—Halloween night.
It was a moderately dark night—Halloween night—when I pulled into the drive of the Motel 6. I got out of the ‘Rolla, walked into the lobby, and was second in line. The elderly gentleman in front of me was lodging some sort of complaint, but since I don’t care about anyone else’s problems, I didn’t pay any attention. I just wanted to go to my room and sleep.
The elderly gentleman finished his business and moved on. I stepped up and asked for a single, non-smoking room. The lady behind the counter gave me a choice of Room 231 or 235. This startled me, because I misheard her and asked, “Did you just say Room 237?”—because there was absolutely no way I was staying in a Room 237 on that night—Halloween night. Room 237 was the most haunted room in the Overlook Hotel in Stanley Kubrick’s verison of The Shining and it was Mrs. Welsh’s old room over at Stanton. I had her for 7th grade biology.
Anyhow, I realized I simply misheard the lady. So I chose… Room 235.
Then she told me I’d been selected to participate in a phone survey, which came with the chance to win a free night in any Motel 6 in the United States. This disturbed me because her spielwas delaying my slumber. She finished, told me about the free morning coffee, and that checkout was at noon. All good.
I turned to leave, but she had one last word of warning. It seemed that the front desk had received a few complaints that night—Halloween night—about a man in a dark jacket who had approached people near the motel. In fact, that was what the elderly gentleman had complained about. So she warned me that, should I see him, I should tell him I had no money. It’s a good thing she told me that, too, because we all know how altruistic I am.
I asked, “So he’s begging for money?”
She said, “Well, probably. We’ve called the county, though.”
I left and drove around to the parking lot nearest my room. I grabbed my bags, and as soon as I locked the car, I saw a man standing near the stairwell, stretching his arms. He was a little taller than me, looked clean-cut…
…and was wearing a black bomber jacket.
Bomber Jacket asked, “How are you doing?”
I nodded and replied, “How are you doing?”
I got closer to the stairwell. Once again, Bomber Jacket asked, “How are you doing?”
I tried to be pleasant, but I know I sounded pissed, and responded, “Good. How are you?”
He asked, “Where are you from?”
Now folks, it is absolutely nobody’s business where I come from. I attribute that to originally being from New Hampshire, home of the best state motto in the country: “Live Free or Die.” It reflects a general desire to be left alone, lest we dump your tea in the harbor, metaphorically speaking. So I simply answered, “Away.”
He asked, “From Florida?”
This really ticked me off. I still had my Florida tag on the car, indicating that he had watched me get out of my car near the lobby, and followed me.
This time, I didn’t respond. I simply went to my room on the second story, opened the door, laid my luggage on the bed. I left the room and stood against the railing outside my door and looked at where Bomber Jacket had been standing. He was still there, looking around, and I simply stared at him.
He looked around, presumably waiting for another mark to happen by. After a few minutes, he looked up and saw me. He looked a little startled. He turned and walked across the parking lot. He looked back and I was still staring at him.
He walked next door, which was a Denny’s parking lot, where I figured he’d beg some more people for money. He looked back again, and I was still staring at him. People were entering and leaving the Denny’s, going to their cars, but he wasn’t stopping any of them to ask for money, to talk to them, for anything. He walked around the building once, and sure enough I was still staring at him.
Then it occurred to me he never asked me for money. He wasn’t asking anybody for money.
Finally a police cruiser showed up. He saw it and started walking away from the Motel 6 and the Denny’s, towards I-57. The cops circled a few times, but somehow neglected to stop the person who walked away from them as soon as they showed up. Oh well. I went back to my room, watched the edited-for-TV version of American Psycho, and fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning, got showered, dressed, and went to check out. I asked the morning clerk whether the cops found anybody, and related my own experience from the previous night—Halloween night. The clerk said, “Yeah, that sounds like him. Some people said his story was that he broke down on 57 and was $20 short of the towing fee.” Which, of course, failed to explain why the guy disappeared when the cops showed up.
I checked out, went to my car, ready for the interview… and saw Bomber Jacket in my side mirror on the other side of the parking lot, wearing the same clothes as the night before. Either the guy was a psycho killer, or was some jerk who simply couldn’t scrounge up $20, call AAA, call a friend, or ask the cops for help. And once again, when we made eye contact, he turned and left. I drove to the interview.
That’s the story. Sorry that there’s not much to it. Maybe I should have ran him over that morning. Maybe I should have told the cops which way he went. Maybe I should have locked my room, walked downstairs, gotten my knife, followed him back to his car, watched him as he futilely tinkered with the engine once last time, killed him, and left his head on the hood ornament with “Live Free or Die” carved on his face. It surely would have made for a better Halloween story, and he definitely would’ve known better for next time.
Maybe I should’ve just given the poor guy twenty bucks that night–Halloween night–but that would have been crazy.
This entry was posted on Thursday, November 3rd, 2005 at 8:36 PM.
5 Responses to “Halloween night.”
- Vincent Viscariello Says:
November 3rd, 2005 at 9:10 PM
P.S. There’s a commercial with a car driving around, and about halfway through, a white mist appears in front of the car. Have a look…
http://matthewmiller.net/images/Classic_Auto_1.mpeg
- blueroses Says:
November 3rd, 2005 at 11:14 PM
But hey, it made for a good story.
I came home and slept through Halloween. Paying this kid in my math class to buy me candy… that sound count for something, $2 for five bags and finally a night’s rest.
Whenever I see any Patrick Bateman film I inevitably think of Little Women.
- domthebomb Says:
November 4th, 2005 at 7:33 PM
Ah! it was a terrible story, but oh my god…I had mrs. welsh for 7th grade biology!
- scrappy Says:
November 8th, 2005 at 12:36 AM
Wait, is the scary part of the story supposed to be that I had Mrs. Welsh for seventh grade biology, too?
- Vincent Viscariello Says:
November 8th, 2005 at 12:46 AM
There isn’t really a “scary” part so much as there is a “getting ticked off” part. There was nothing scary about Mrs. Welsh; she let me dissect a shark.
