I don’t know why I put up with it. Business trips. Business class. Business casual…good lord, the pleated front kaki pants…I thought those went out with the 80’s. And me, in the middle of the desert, parched…near dehydration, skin all dry and cracked, nothing but dust and death all around me.
Business class, my cute, tight little butt…they booked me in a motel. God, I shudder just at the sound of the word. Station wagons with screaming kids, truckers, convicts, cheating spouses with even cheaper whores…that is what motels are for, not business trave and certainly not the business trave I am used to.
And wouldn’t you know it. The pool was closed…as dry as the surrounding wasteland. So I did what any self respecting person in my horrid situation would. I hopped a fence…that’s right, I trespassed, broke and entered…and found the first pool that didn’t look like Swamp Thing lived there.
I even raided their mini bar. Did I get caught? Yes…yes, I did. By two rather cute and like-minded homeowners. Things got a little wild that night…I missed the start of my conference the next day. And you…will have to use your imagination, my camera ran out of batteries half-way through the night.
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