Room 13

A highway patrol police pair found Doog  Byds slumped over the steering wheel of a 10 year old Pajero at a rest stop near The Caves about twenty kilometres north of Rockhampton. It was only seven in the post meridiem. After tapping on the widow and waking him the male police officer administered a breathalyser thinking that drunkenness may have been the reason for his early weariness. It wasn’t. After further questioning by the female officer Doog admitted he had been driving for more that twelve hours (no crime) and that he had suddenly felt very tired and thought it prudent to pull over and rest. He had been reading the fatigued based driver, death advertising all the way down the road.  He fell asleep inadvertently he confessed.

At some point he was told by the diligent police couple, curiously, in unison, “you can’t spend the night here mate.” (Jinx – we used to say something different but I can’t remember what it was.)

Doog thanked the police for their instruction and promised to set off again within the next ten or so minutes – after a cigarette. While accepting, but not being overly happy with Doog’s response, they stressed they would return within the hour to make sure he had moved on. Doog felt warmed by the constableses (sic) care.

Doog was true to his talk. He smoked his cigarette, walked circles around his car forcing clarity into his senses as he did so and then got back into his beat up but reliable machine and drove the twenty odd kilometres to Rockhampton vowing to stop at the first motel he came to.

From the top of the hill having just past the sports ground of CQ University a bunch of lights, some five hundred metres ahead on the left, gave flight or vice versa to Doog’s weariness for he beheld a service station, truck stop, and unidentifiable business and then, praise be to God, a Motel.

As he drove down the hill and as he neared the property he noticed the name, The Grecian Alms and that yes, yes, yes it had vacancies.

It was approaching eight.

Driving into the drive way of the Grecian Alms Doog watched a young lad of about six wearing only shorts run from a door on the right screaming something in a spoilt sort of manner before turning to throw what appeared to be a sausage at the woman who came out of the same door seconds behind him. It was a good shot too. Got her fair in the right eye and stopped her dead in her tracks. Doog reckoned she would have collapsed right then and there but then she saw him driving in and collected herself. Bending to pick up the sausage she curtly smiled in Doog’s direction then continued on to Reception where Doog was heading and into which door the six year old had just disappeared.

Doog, though tired, was in no hurry and by the time he opened the door and entered reception both the boy and presumably the mother were gone. But a door slammed somewhere behind other closed doors.

Reception was attended by a short fellow with a three day growth wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. It was dark. His ears however, were something to behold and on a scale somewhere between a Koala Bear (without the fur) and Dumbo. He spoke in a monosyllabic, sulky gait. Greetings and the imparting of information did not come easily to him but he did use one or two courteous words that he had picked up over the years to hide his complete lack of social skill. Doog was put in room thirteen and told that if he wanted to eat he should do it now because the kitchen closed in twenty minutes. He didn’t want to eat, he was tired, he told the dark glasses but said he might come up for the buffet breakfast in the morning. He got no response.

God has no lover for moteliers or their uses. Or at least, Nativity, the first told story about such a circumstance suggests that.

To be continued……..