It is Friday - May 8, 2009: The morning of our departure for Albany is upon us. It’s extremely warm outside for early May, already nearly 80 degrees at 9:00 a.m. The car is packed full of dogs and wedding gear, and we are ready to roll. Chris picks up his tux from a rental shop on Queens Boulevard. He also grabs bagels and coffee for us from the Jewish deli on the same block, as well as some turkey breast for Ellie and Herm. Then we’re off for the NYS Thruway.
Chris: “Buckle up! Now, we can’t be late for this rehearsal. We gotta make good time, no fuckin’ around...”
Me: “Ummm….And WHY on earth are you telling me this? YOU’RE the driver today. You wanna make good time, go ahead and make good time, for chrissake.”
Chris: “Wow.” (He shoots me a look) “You’re such a sweet woman. I’m really looking forward to this nice, loooong drive together.”
Me: “Well, GOD. What the frig do I have to do with it?”
Truthfully, we are both pretty agitated this morning. As much as we’ve tried to feel positive about this expedition, there is an unshakable sense of dread permeating the whole thing.
Oh, and I’m about to get my period.
We do make good time, tho’, pulling into Albany ahead of schedule. We decide to go check out our hotel accommodations at the Best Western that sits smack-dab in the middle o’ town.
Now, Ellie is an old HOTEL PRO, bless her game little terrier-heart. In fact, she positively LIVES for a good hotel adventure. She can’t get enough of meeting new people and ordering room service and is truly in her element just lyin’ on her back with her chubby little legs waving in the air on some seedy hotel bed.
Herman, on the other hand, has never been in a hotel before. This trip marks a first for him. (Quite possibly a last, too - altho’ I never give up hope.)
I am at the hotel reception desk, retrieving our room key and handling the necessary paperwork. There’s a line forming behind me. A lot of people seem to be checking in specifically for the same wedding we’re attending. The bride has a huge family and right now I’m pretty happy that none of them know who we are.
Chris is standing off to the side in the corner of the lobby, restraining both dogs by their leashes. I can’t look, but from the sound of it I know that Herman is pulling frantically to get to me, clawing the tile floors and making an ungodly racket. He bucks, whines, yelps, MOANS in abject misery: MOMMY! O, GOD…MOMMY!!! I am less than 15 feet away but he is LOSING IT, as tho’ he is certain that the reception counter is about to swallow me up whole and he will never see me (or taste my delicious, home-cooked doggy-meals) ever again.
The dude at the counter sports a tight-lipped little smile, his eyes flitting over to Herman and back at me. “Separation Anxiety,” I say to him. He raises one eyebrow and gives a little grunt. And what the fuck’s with YOU? I almost say to him, but then decide not to. I finally get the key and the four of us head on down a long hallway to our room.
It feels as tho’ the temperature has climbed another 15 degrees since this morning. Both dogs are foaming at the mouth and pulling - excited and crazed. Chris is cursing under his breath since his arms are getting yanked from their sockets. Also notable: I have a bum ankle from an old accident, and on bad arthritis days (one of which is – of course – today!) I use a funky little knee-scooter to zip around. It’s actually a pretty cool rig. So here we are: Sweating profusely. Dogs yanking and wheezing, Chris cursing and me doing some fancy one-legged scooting like a circus performer down this hotel corridor. We draw a little bit of attention, I guess. Not too bad, tho’.
We get into our room. It’s very hot in the room. I turn on the air conditioner, but it doesn’t sound or feel too effective. The dogs are sniffing all around, beyond excited now. Ellie is absolutely giddy and even Herman seems like he could be okay once things settle a little bit. I put down a big bucket of water, and they lap it eagerly. Me and Chris drop our bags and plop down into a couple of chairs, heaving sighs.
No sooner are we seated when there’s a resounding metallic CLANKING SOUND coming thru the wall.
Seems that the ‘dog-friendly’ rooms in this joint are all situated directly next to or across from the extremely noisy, active ROOM SERVICE ELEVATOR. So as a BONUS, the clanking elevator mechanism is also always accompanied by thunderous, rattling room service carts and such. And this is constant. Constant.
At the first CLANK, Herman’s head spins around like Linda Blair. He has a distinct language all his own, and I know this bark very well. This is similar to the bark he employs when THE BOILER REPAIR MAN is working in our basement at home. Except THIS time, it’s even a tad more hysterical. Herman’s message now, in this strange and - yes, HOSTILE - environment, translates as follows:
“‘MOMMY AND DADDY, MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE. THE MONSTERS HAVE ARRIVED AND WE ARE NOW FACING IMMEDIATE DEATH AND DESTRUCTION. WE MUST EVACUATE THE PREMISES AT ONCE. THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY WE CAN IGNORE THIS, AND I REFUSE TO IGNORE THIS, AND I WILL DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO PROTECT US ALL, WHICH iN OTHER WORDS MEANS, WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW BEFORE WE ARE ALL HORRIBLY MURDERED. DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU UNDERSTAND? BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE IGNORED. WE MUST ACT NOW.”
Me and Chris look at each other. Here we go.
TO BE CONTINUED….
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