I am going to start by paying my dues to my family and friends that are stuck in the horrible place that is called Idaho. This is in no Way a personal attack upon you or your heritage. I just forwardly apologize for your bad luck.
I will openly admit that I have had a vendetta towards Idaho to begin with. Everyone from Idaho thinks they are so great. And that Idaho is so great. Yet, they have to drive their sorry asses to Utah to participate in events that involve people. Concerts, fairs, basically anything that is fun in life; it doesn't happen in Idaho. So, when the news trickled through that our family reunion would be held in Idaho at Lava Hot Springs, I was admittedly miffed. I have had fun at Lava Hot Springs in years prior. But, I was also young and stupid. So, I was packing my bag for the weekend trying to come up with a good excuse to not go aside from dismemberment. But, in the end, I couldn't come up with anything.
After the longest drive to Idaho I have ever experienced, I was happy to at least be able to lie in a bed for a minute, and dry the sweat off my back. When we pulled up to the motel, it looked more like something out of a horror movie than real life. People with limps were sauntering about. There was an orange cooler that was full of homemade moonshine and people standing around it talking in broken English. I knew that I may as well sacrifice any sleep I was hoping to get this weekend, Cause I was going to be staying up all night waring off drunks and meth addicts.
When we approached the front desk, a woman wearing a blood stained apron and missing teeth was happy to welcome us to Murder Mystery Motel. She issued us our room keys and offered us the password to the wifi. Which I accepted, but didn't use. I figured it was probably some sort of honing device used to shut off our phones so we cant call for help when the rape clan slinks into our room that night.
We went to our rooms, and it took us about 5 minutes to figure out how to open the door. The keys just didn't quite do the trick. There was some jiggling and jostling involved so as to stall any authorities you call. Which was all the more alarming to me. When we did finally get into our rooms, we we're unpleasantly surprised. One queen size bed, and three single beds were placed in a room that was roughly the size of my bedroom. The only thing that separated the bathroom from the rest of the room, was a shower curtain. So, this room was meant for really tight knit families who like to hear and smell whatever business is going on in the bathroom. I claimed my bed closest to the window and air conditioning unit, so as to drown out the screams of our neighbors being murdered. My bed wasn't even placed on an actual bed frame. It was some 2x4's and plywood nailed together in a makeshift box form. My sheets didn't match and looked like something that was at one point on my grandma's bed when she was 10 years old. 70 years ago. I was most excited to try and explain to everyone how I got pubic lice, but that I am still a virgin.
I think we were compromised for our black and white TV by having curtains made of fleece blankets, as the rest of the motel rooms had towels for their curtains. I looked under my bed to check for any dead people, and booby traps, and it seemed like the last time they actually cleaned under there was about the time that World War 2 ended. There was old confetti and socks that didn't even have a brand name on them. I felt it necessary to take a little walk and get some Idaho air in my lungs that didn't taste like a moldy house.
I walked out of our room and would lazily glance at all the windows to notice if anyone else had the fleece blanket upgrade, or they were all towels. As I walked past one room, the curtains were drawn. And I was so sorry that I looked in that window. There, sitting in a chair, was an older gentleman. He had a neck brace on, and was in some sort of assisted chair, and his pants and underwear were around his ankles, and he was sound asleep. How you could have the window open at such a time is still something I can't gather. I ran like hell back to my room to try and repent for seeing some other old mans funny parts. I knew then and there that I wanted to go back to Utah. If I woke up and someone stabbed me several times, I would walk outside, fill my wounds with dirt and sticks, and I would walk to Utah. Then I would take out my makeshift blood clots and bleed out happily on Utah soil. I refuse to die in Idaho.
This story is 100% true and unexxagerated. And I feel like this is a healthy reflection of what goes on in Idaho. Naked old men and murder motels. I usually think that everywhere has some sort of attraction that would make the trip worth it. However, I feel that Idaho is a strong exception to that rule.
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