Spice Of Life
As I recall, it was a warm and tranquil scene: I lounged comfortably in a hammock, swaying in the gentle afternoon breeze, gazing out on the beautiful beach painted with pearly white sand and mighty blue waves, both of which collided together in the distance. I held a fruity tropical drink dressed with a little umbrella and a long curly straw which bent and twisted in all directions. Some native island girls soon appeared and began what must have been a sacred island dance passed down through the generations which they now performed strictly in my honor. It was bliss, it was paradise, it was near euphoria... except for the band.
I hardly noticed the music at first, a local group I figured. Their funky-sounding beats playing softly in the distance were steadily growing louder, and after a short while I grew quite tired of it. I kept thinking how familiar it sounded, yet I couldn’t name it and deeply wanted it silenced. I turned my head in all directions looking for the source of the music, but saw no stage, no instruments, no band. “What is this song!?” I thought, “Where is it coming from!?”
Then, as the minor annoyance grew to an unbearable irritation, I had a moment of clarity...My cell phone! My eyes peeled open as I sat up in bed, I read the screen, Incoming Call: The Inn.
I have had an innumerable amount of dreams squashed to dust over the years and it never gets any less disappointing. Fortunately, on this night, the dream-wrecking call that came just after three o’clock in the morning delivered a small dose of amusement for my troubles...
Lois, the Inn’s part-time Night Auditor, was working the Front Desk when a male guest shuffled up wearing no more than a tiny guest room face cloth, which he gripped tightly over his crotch with one hand. His eyes were bright red and he appeared to be crying. Furthermore, there were little pink burns around his neck and chunks of wax in his chest hair. With no mention of his present condition, including the fact that he was severely under-dressed, he flailed his one free hand and yelled, “Help, the room is on fire!”
Lois immediately ran to the fire control panel in the back office to look for the alarms and saw there were none. She returned to the Front Desk to attempt to calm the man down and get a complete story, but he was gone. Within minutes, the Inn’s fire alarms were sounding and the parking lot filled with fire trucks, paramedics and a few hundred angry guests suffering from a worse wake-up call than I received!
I arrived at the Inn within the hour. To my horror I spotted someone being loaded into the back of an ambulance as I pulled in. I jogged from my parking spot to the entrance, where the Fire Marshall stood laughing with a pair cops and Lois. “What happened here?” I asked.
And so came the story of Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey from Room #428, who on their thirteen wedding anniversary decided they needed to put some spice back into their relationship. On a whim, they had left the children with their grandparents for the night, skipped their stale and predictable dinner plans at some fancy restaurant and instead, headed to Inn for a night of romance... only after a quick stop at the grocery store. It seemed that one of the two, (no one could be completely sure which of Humphreys in particular) had instigated the idea that experimenting with food in the bedroom would bring back their lost spark of love and lust.
Their plan was flawed. Somehow along the way of experimenting they had managed to chafe their skin with peanut butter, mat their hair with sticky honey and burn their eyes with Tabasco sauce. Whip cream, raw cookie dough and an assortment of whole garden vegetables dotted the room even as we spoke.
Dumbfounded, I riddled off a series of questions: “How did they start a fire?" - “Did they try cooking after all that?” - “Who was hurt?”
Apparently, the turning point came with the Tabasco sauce which ended up leaking not only into Mr. Humphrey’s eyes, but also his crotch. Trying to salvage the mood he suggested putting away the groceries to attempt the less painful prospect of candle wax.
Sadly, Mr. Humphrey’s idea of his own pain threshold was greatly overestimated.
With one eye closed and watering from her own interaction with the Tabasco, Mrs. Humphrey tipped the crown of a lit candle and seductively dripped hot wax on her husband’s chest. He immediately screamed, jumped up and kicked the candle out of his wife’s hand and into the drapes. He leapt to the bathroom, grabbed the only clean towel he could find (that tiny face cloth) and ran to the Front Desk for help. Only after telling Lois about the fire, he realized he left his wife and ran back to get her.
“Wow,” I said, stunned, frozen in place and slightly amused. “How bad was the fire?”
“Not bad at all. Mostly smoke, but we’ve cleared the other guests to return to there rooms,” the Fire Marshall said grinning.
“Who went to the hospital, are they okay?” I asked.
“Both of them them went in for burns... unrelated to the fire,” one cop said.
“I would have rather sat in the flames,” said another.
~The Innkeeper
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Posted by Innkeeper at 1/18/2011 6:00 AM 
Categories: Collection 2 Chronicles, Love and Sex
Tags: Tranquil Hammock Beach Island Paradise Beats Inn Innkeeper Front Desk Guest Fire Food Sex Burn Tabasco
Categories: Collection 2 Chronicles, Love and Sex
Tags: Tranquil Hammock Beach Island Paradise Beats Inn Innkeeper Front Desk Guest Fire Food Sex Burn Tabasco
This is soo funny! Great post and I think I would have rather sat in the fire too!
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Hahaha!!! This could be about me and my wife- only we set a fire with incense! This blog rocks.
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