Let's be a seedy motel!

I'm the meth addict watching you from my window across the parking lot.

I'm the pubic hair between the sheets.

I'm the pubes from previous guests in the shower drain.

I'm the very loud, incoherent argument next door. And out in the parking lot. And four rooms down on the other side.

I’m the stench of weed

I’m the bed bugs that infest everything & that you carry home after getting a STD from the random grinder hookup

I'm the crackhead who has been living in room 15 since September 2019. I have a special arrangement with motel management.

I'm the broken light fixture.

I'll be the shower head that kids works but also has a massive leak. I give you lukewarm water, at best, you broke bastard.

I'm the cigarette burns in the bedspread.

I'm the dead body found after three days. No one knows if it was a suicide or murder. Management tells the cops he doesn't know nothin'. Housekeeping is upset because they can't get the room cleaned up for the next incoming guest.

The the front desk clerk who almost certainly doubles as a pimp.

I'm the cheap led lights that are a blue hue. And none of them match.

I'm three teenage girls collected from two airports earlier today, waiting to shit out condoms filled with drugs, worried that the capsules might break and only vaguely aware that Phase II of the job will also involve generating money from body cavities in sour smelling rooms like these,but these jobs will last a few years until I'm spent and tired and sold out to a Chinese lady who bought a huge McMansion with good Feng shui and bad labor-management relations.

I'm Sandra in reception! I just finished checking Mr. Burrous and his friend into our loveliest room.

I am the clerk sitting behind a thick piece of glass. I check you in and I phone you when your hour is up. With some regret, I have to admit that I write this from experience. Back in the nineties, I fell into a scene populated by crack smoking street hustlers who hung out around the gay bars in my city.

I'm Norman.

I love my Mother.

I'm a human molar found in the shag carpet.

Since r10 took mine,

I’m the 19” CRT TV.

But, hey, I’m a color television!

I am the self-proclaimed sophisticated world traveler writing a very negative review on Trip Advisor, completely amazed and baffled that the $40.00/night room in a major US city was a roach filled, smelly dump, and that the "continental breakfast" the next morning was just single serving boxes of cereal and bad coffee. How dare they!!!!!

I very self righteously declare I will never, ever darken the doors of this establishment again.

I’m the black light that has had sufficient and would like to be switched off now, please.

I'm the police and ambulance sirens that keep waking you up between 2 and 4 am

I'm the rumor that Jim Morrison stayed in room 15 in 1967. I'm false.

[quote] I'm three teenage girls collected from two airports earlier today,

They took deeferent path.

I'm the Magic Fingers.

I’m your bed vibrator. I sit on the nightstand, looking something like a 1960s radio, but when you put your quarter in, it’s not music that comes out. Most people turn onto their stomachs during my 15 minute performance. I’m oh so relaxing;

R25 you forgot to mention that, although I haven't worked since 1987, people still put quarters in me. Nobody ever bothers to ask for a refund

I'm the flashing red numbers on the cheap, 1970s-vintage clock radio.

I'm the desk chair with a broken wheel, rendering me practically immobile.

I'm the hidden camera aimed directly at the bed.

I'm the mold on the ceiling.

I'm the 75-cent reproduction of an unknown artist's murky landscape nailed to the wall over the bed.

I'm the old-school outdoor ice machine. Despite the fact that there's a holder for the metal ice scoop, the scoop always ends up buried in the ice.

I'm me, 50+ years ago, when I was pleasant, clean, and family friendly.

I'm the vending machine that contains overpriced packages of off-brand pain relievers, toiletries, and feminine hygiene products.

I'm the domestic violence incident escalating in the next room.

I'm the "new gay place". Yes, I'm in FL.

I'm the grisly breeding and seeding orgy circa 2007 before PrEP. Please park in the diner parking lot and don't knock. BYO favors.

I'm a fortune in mid-century Knoll furniture forgotten in the rec room, which was locked when the pool was finally filled in 20 years ago.

I'm the marquee, with missing letters and misspellings.

I'm ten thousand $ in hundred dollar bills, taped to the back of 2 drawers. We've been here 27 years.

We're the Patels. Someone who shares our surname owns all of us.

I'm the hipster couple from NY checking the place out for a purchase and renovation into a whimsical and nostalgic motel filled with West Elm furniture and charging $250/night. A Kuerig in every room!

I'm the moaning woman next door who's getting fucked by my BF as my head keep banging against the bed board.

I'm the neon diving lady sign. I haven't been fully lighted since the Carter administration

I'm the sink hole that's been deepening under the 200 wing. The 70 year old concrete, poured too thin at construction, will give way in 3,2,1.

I'm bleach. I haven't been seen in 3 years.

I'm LivePD. I use to visit these motels 3 or 4 times every Friday and Saturday night. But not anymore.

I'm Marion Crane, wondering if you have any vacancies.

I'm a paperback edition of Future Shock by Alvin Toffler, on the "feel free to read" shelf in the office by the coffee machine, next to flyers for a outlet mall that is reduced to 2 shops, a children's book about the Torah, and Simply Rich: Life and Lessons from the Cofounder of Amway: A Memoir, by Richard DeVos.

I'm the pool, with water that is a bit greenish.

I’m the cigarette burns in the bathroom counter left there by one too many guests smoking whilst sitting on the toilet

I’m what looks like mineral deposits atop the broken air conditioning unit.

I'm the rancid smell emanating from the air conditioning unit that does work in the room next to r53. It's a constant internal battle: rancid smell, or unbearable heat?

I'm Beck's Motor Lodge.

I'm the drag queen who got my name from the above.

I'm the mid-20s prostitute (of uncertain gender) who knocks on the motel room door at 9 pm in Blythe, California, asking for a ride to another motel.

I'm Miss Joan Crawford, waking up with a pounding hangover. That John I picked up on the freeway last night may have got my wallet and blackened my eye, but by God he didn't get my car keys!

I'm the 40-year-old Bible sitting in the drawer of the nightstand. Why am I here?

I'm the crusty white residue on r59 's Bible.

Please don't inquire about me further.

I'm Stevie, the sarcastic young woman behind the counter, wondering if she'll have sex with David again.

I’m the meth driven orgy put together on Grindr with a constant trickle of men arriving and leaving for a few days.

I'm soda bottle cum shake and bake meth lab stashed between the mattresses. I'm toxic as hell and finding me should condemn the room, but upon discovery, I'm just tossed in the maid's big trash bag and rolled to each room.

I'm the straight businessman on the bed with a ball gag and wearing thigh high stockings.

I'm the decomposing corpse under the bed.

I'm the long back hair on the "freshly laundered" towel in the bathroom.

I'm actual mushrooms growing in the shag carpet under the sink. The carpet around me makes an audible squish when you step on it.

I'm the thin, threadbare towels and miniature bar soaps.

r67 wins!

r69 the same thing happened to a friend in college in her “garden level” apartment.

Vibrating bed - 25 cents for 5 minutes.

And the vibrations can be felt in the room next door.

I’m the “Sanitized for your protection” paper band around the toilet seat. The last time I made an appearance was 1981.

I'm the postcard of the motel in the desk. The picture on me is the one taken in 1934 when the motel first opened.

"The last time I made an appearance was 1981."

Which, from the looks of said toilet, is the last time it was cleaned.

R67 is why I don't eat mushrooms.

I’m the camera equipment used to film a porn movie.

I’m the disco lights.

I'm the dusty vending machine, full over overpriced crap. I've been broken since that Thanksgiving shoot out.

I'm the empty hypodermic needles hidden in nooks and crannies on the floor. We're just lying in wait for a barefoot guest to step on one of us.

I’m the black impala that shows up for a few minutes every evening around seven. I hold a full inventory of pharmaceuticals, electronics, and Tide with security fob.

I’m the Grindr slut putting the door on the latch and getting into the face down, ass up position.

I'm the bathroom door that opens inward and leaves very little space to stand while you try to close it.

I’m the soft butch sous chef here to, um, “see” r81.

I’m the police crime scene van.

I’m intimately familiar with almost every room.

I'm an online detective who spends the night in room 4, trying to solve the death of the mysterious death (see R11) that happened 4 years ago. Time to unpack my ouija board!

I’m the shitty travel sized toiletries in the bathroom. I’m complimentary but I smell like an old woman’s perfume.

I’m the dead junkie with the needle still stuck in his arm.

I’m Bipolar April and I’m not allowed on the premises.

I'm the popcorn ceiling. You try not to look at me due to the grime cemented into my grooves and my overall tackiness, so you fail to notice the hole drilled into me which allows the owner to film you in all your embarrassing glory.

We're the Keller family. We're staying in room 12 -- all of us, mother, father, three kids, one dog -- for a few days on our drive to Yellowstone National Park.

The sign for this motel looked promising at the freeway exit, and the front office seemed clean enough. However, we've become increasingly unsettled. But we won't relocate to the marginally less seedy Motel 6 across the street, as we paid for this room upfront and we noticed an ominous NO REFUNDS sign when we checked in.

This is the first time we've left the state of Indiana since 2013.

I'm the unit with a hot tub that you can upgrade to.

I see what you 're doing here OP !! IT' S DAN LEVY 'S BIRTHDAY TODAY YEEEEEEPPEEEEEEEEEEE ! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAN 🎊🎉🎊🎉🎉

I'm the filthily 10 year old mattress protector that is covered in piss, shit, cum & blood stains (that haven't been able to be completed sponged out).

I'm the Bible in the nightstand. Because, the first thing you'll want to do when you walk inside the room is to grab a bottle, hunker down, and pray for sunlight.

I'm the 2014 Yellow Pages that shares a drawer with r94 's Bible.

I have a crusty substance on my front cover, which you hope is dried pizza sauce.

We're the family of five who all live in one room since illegals took over the parents' shitty jobs.

I'm Aileen Wournos, furiously washing blood out of my hair and clothes. My girlfriend is drinking beer and watching daytime t.v in the other room.

My goodness. What lives have you queens been leading?

My goodness. What lives have you queens been leading?

OP, this thread is great! It has a great mix of eeew and laughs! Thank you.

r100 you're welcome! Anything to distract from the mess that is our world right now.

"Let's Be" threads are one of my favorite things about the DL. They really bring out posters' creativity.

Bobby Peru:

I gotta take a piss bad, can I use your head?

Lula:

Uh... yeah, I guess.

Bobby Peru:

I don't mean your head-head. I'm not gonna piss on your head, your hair and all, I'm just gonna piss in the toilet. Ya'll take a listen, you'll hear the deep sound comin' down from Bobby Peru.

I am a quality control supervisor for Days Inns. My job is to make sure Days Inn standards of cleanliness and maintenance are maintained at all of our properties.

It's a no-show gig and I don't really do anything, which is apparent as soon as you step into one of our dumps.

The most appalling hotel I've every stayed in was a Days Inn in Ann Arbor, Michigan, r103.

And I've stayed in hotels in second-tier Chinese cities at $20 (American) a night.

I'm the stiff acrylic blanket.

I am laundered, at best, twice a year.

I’m one of the two water glasses lying upside down on the dresser. I am accompanied by cheap paper products that you find nowhere else. I rest on top of a thin circle that subs for a coaster and am also covered by a krinkly wrapper - for your protection, of course.

I'm the seventeen unique DNA profiles that could be extracted from the glasses at r106.

I'm Aiden Keller and I just ate the mushrooms I found under the sink!!! They don't taste too bad.

I’m the plastic binder in the dresser drawer. Inside me are one page of ads for the local pizza joint, wing place, and Chinese takeout, and one page with the local attractions and houses of worship on one side, and the cable channels on the other.

I'm the centipede that's crawling across the ceiling over the bed. You can't take your eyes off me.

R109 I haven't been updated for five years.

I'm the thickly painted concrete block walls of your suite. At first, the idea of a painted concrete seems to reassure that I am relatively clean but on closer examination you see that my porous surface has collected a light dusting of dust, dead skin and hair.

I'm the ACTUAL underhanded, disgusting shit that happens in these places. Oh, and you disrespected my hoeing!

I’m the used condom under the bed.

I'm the various cracks in the bathroom mirrors in rooms 5, 8, and 10.

A floater in the toilet.

Im the used diaphragm thats been under the bed since 1976....the beds never been moved nor the carpets ever been replaced

I'm 3 week old stink of dried poppers coming from the mattress. Only sluts can instantly identify me.

I’m the old issue of Juggs Magazine on top of the TV credenza. The short Latina maid can’t see me to realize I’m there, but a 6 foot 3 guest can spot it straight away.

I'm "Colour TV!!!" and I've been on the motel signage for a good forty to fifty years now.

I'm the buckling carpet.

I'm the fire that burnt the seedy motel down ten years ago and also the replacement seedy hotel that was erected on the same site that should be ready to disappoint in a few months.

I’m the coven of wiccans who have taken over five interconnecting rooms and have lived here for like 6 months.

I'm the continually buzzing neon VACA_CY sign. The N blew out years ago.

I'm the potent smell of cigarette smoke in the "non-smoking" rooms.

I'm the 'Heated Pool'

I'm the ugly lamp.

How many of me can fit in one room?

R127 Oooh, but you go so well with those lime chairs!

R59~~~I am the rectangular shaped cuts on various water-buckled, wavy thin paper pages of that old bible. I've been cut out to roll up joints and tobacco cigarettes, sometimes make wrap for a small amount of coke. I'm almost as thin as cigarette papers.

I'm Josefina, the newest member of the housekeeping staff. If I knew what this is what I'd end up doing, I'd have saved that money I paid the coyote and stayed in Mexico.

[quote] The N blew out years ago.

It ain’t the only thing.

I’m the sticky sweet roll included in the complimentary continental breakfast available in the hotel lobby from 6 to 8:45 am (and put away promptly at 8:43 each day). I am wrapped in the cellophane that hasn’t been used for food packaging since 1998.

I am the smell of curry coming from behind the closed door at the back of the reception area where the desk is. You can expect me when you see the tiny bars of Indian soap and squeeze-packets of shampoo in your room.

I delight the nostrils of sensible people. I offend the schnozzes of every person who voted for Trump or will do so again.

I am.....

the mattress.

Meaning

I am.....

the mattress.

And I am.....

the telephone.

I'm the N64 console.

LOL at r102

I happen to live in the trailer park around the corner. My name is Bobby Peru.

[quote] You know, I sure do like a girl with nice tits like yours who talks tough and looks like she can fuck like a bunny. Do you fuck like that? Cause if you do, I'll fuck you good. Like a big old jackrabbit bunny, jump all around that hole. Bobby Peru don't come up for air.

I know the image

I'm the open doors where you can see the men sitting on their beds jacking off.

I am the response from the fat older woman with dyed red hair and a yellow cyst on the side of her nose when you storm to the office with your unopened suitcase after you see THIS when you enter the room:

[quote]If you don't like it then leave, but I'm keepin' the money because you already been in the room and it was clean when you went in there and how the hell do I know what you've been doin' in there?"

I am that curry in the back office, and yes, I would be the best curry of your life, and I'm not available anywhere in town, but no, you may not have a serving of me, no, not at any price, no.

I am the Cromwell Crown Hotel, Room 308

I am the heap of fish scales blocking the bathroom sink drain and the tumbleweed of dog hair (one hopes) as the chubby, sweating manager keeps trying to push through the chain on the door he opened with a master key to "have a little visit because I get so lonely" after giving you the up-and-down stare when you checked in.

"I know you're in there!"

I'm the faded, but still visible, remnants of the chalk outline of a body on the industrial-grade chartreuse carpeting.

I’m the searing stench of chlorine bleach and heady dose of humidity when you open the door from the adjacent pool. I’m accompanied by eye level rust spots freckling any metal finish or trim that you can only view when sitting on the bed, because everything else was painted over with matte mustard paint that hides all sins. All the plastics in the room are so oxidized they don’t look any better than something pluckedfrom a landfill.

I’m also the four prostitutes that burst out the side door and rush hurriedly past the security guard. You thought he worked for the hotel but is actually employed by the chicken place on the corner to avoid auto brake ins. There’s another car next to his festooned with lights and gadgetry that you suddenly realize is an undercover cop’s and the entire grounds are being surveilled so Being an former New Yorker new to the horrors of a seedy Orlando hotel, you “look but don’t look”.

I'm the size 52 jockstrap lodged in the bottom of the coin-operated washing machine.

I'm the free wi-fi. My signal is strong only in the first 2 rooms next to the office. In the last room of the building, the signal is so weak that you'll lose the connection over and over. You'll end up standing outside the office, who will never notice you there. At 9 p.m. my speed is so slow you can't do anything. Wait until 3 a.m. when everyone else is asleep, then you can do anything you want. No sites are blocked, so download some porn.

I'm mysterious faded stains on the stiff bedspread.

I'm the gunshots heard from the parking lot, and the car screeching off moments later.

I’m Film Noir in color. I make seediness look glamorous.

I'm the multi-colored, quilted bedspread. When the lab tests me for DNA, they find over 20 different DNA sources.

I'm the mini coffee pot with drip tank. I'm one of the amenities in this little room.

I'm the former mayor of Tallahassee, FL, passed out after spending time with a gay escort and his doctor friend.

I'm the pillow that's so hard it literally gives you an earache. The mattress though is quite soft albeit a tad musty smelling.

The first thing to do in any hotel or motel is to turn the top spread down out of the way. They change sheets daily but not the bedspreads unless it's super dirty. Some of the more upscale places have duvets now but I wouldnt trust them either.

We're the flies in your window to let you know there's a decomposing body in the room next door.

Agree, R155. I always fold the bedspread down to the foot of the bed. I also untuck the corners of the flat sheet. If I do run into Housekeeping, I'll let them know they don't need to tuck that in.

I’m the tiny bar of Cashmere Bouquet soap wrapped in paper that you wash your hands and bathe with. I will break into several pieces when you drop me.

[quote]They change sheets daily

Guess again, r155. After I found a pubic hair between the sheets at a Days Inn, I made the mistake of Googling. this question. If sheets "look clean" they often don't change them between guests.

I'm the truck left running in the parking lot next to the building from 3 to 7 a.m., for reasons known only to my redneck. I have black mudflaps with silver naked-woman silhouettes on them, a Confederate flag in my rear window, and a spare revolver in my glove compartment.

I also have an angry pit-bull mix attached to my bumper with a 30-foot chain "so no one fucks with my ride." He scream-barks every time any leaf moves half an inch in a breeze touching any tree within an eighth of a mile from his location.

Every. Fucking. Night. and. Morning.

R155 is a bit prescriptive and bossy.

The first thing to do in a hotel room is to tip the bellhops who carried your trunks and other luggage in and placed them in the bedroom as you instructed.

And this is still on topic because today ALL hotels and motels are seedy, whatever their pretensions.

Im the free HBO and no, Im not reading the other 161 replies to see if someone else posted this.....

I'm the bed you hide under when a drug bust goes bad and the cops and dealers start shooting at each other in the parking lot.

I'm the broken-down vending machine's soft, mechanical whir.

I’m the poop spume wafting its way from the ice machine.

[quote] I’m the sticky sweet roll included in the complimentary continental breakfast available in the hotel lobby

I'm the misconception that a seedy motel has a "hotel lobby" or any kind of breakfast item that is offered to guests.

I’m the manager’s mother, approaching cabin 1 with a knife.

I'm the bathroom fan. There is a 10% chance that I exist.

I'm John Candy and Steve Martin, cuddling up in bed.

I’m the cult deprogramming taking place in the room next door. Sorry about the screaming and crying all day and night.

I'm a beautiful First Nations man (Ojibway ?) with a white girl as his partner who have been hired to entertain the locals. The lobby sign promises a "live show" that evening but our witness, the timid, virginal young gayling next door , who notices our arrival , stays in his room. Sudbury, Ontario July 1980.

Since we're in Northern Ontario r171 ...

I'm the Moe-Ze-On Inn outside of North Bay. I'm a motel, strip club, and brothel, all rolled into one. My "ADULT ENTERTAINMENT" sign is the height of good taste.

I have since burned down and my remains were razed.

[quote]I'm the bed you hide under when a drug bust goes bad and the cops and dealers start shooting at each other in the parking lot.

You think YOU had a bad time at a seedy Memphis motel?

I'm the rickety, sweaty hot tub, populated by a graying, heavily tattooed woman and three much younger men, who glower at you menacingly as you walk toward the soda machine.

I'm no toilet paper.

I'm the potholes in the parking lot big enough to pass for small lakes.

I’m the used condom stuck to the wall behind the desk since Homecoming 1986.

I’m the sound of gunshots.

I’m the cheap tin ashtray you find on the dresser even though the motel has gone non-smoking.

We are the presets on the air conditioning unit below the window that looks on to the parking lot. There are only two of us, high, and low. You can press us over and over but your room will stay at 80 degrees. The only difference is one of us makes the fan go louder.

I’m the broken heater/air conditioner that is only a fan during the heat of summer, but relentlessly keeps the room cold during the winter. Despite multiple attempts at fumbling with the dials, as well as the dial that fell off.

I’m the Whitehall Motel in El Dorado Arkansas and I was witness to one of the most famous Jane Doe murders in history and god knows what else. A Dollar General now stands where I once was.

I’m the sharp metal lid of the heater and I have no problem cutting a mentally-deficient grandma sex worker. Throw four construction temps in here and I’ll mark every one. See that maid? Yeah, I cut her.

I'm the busted blow dryer that smells of burnt hair when switched on.

I'm also the mold in the shower stall.

(fun thread btw)

[quote] to avoid auto brake ins.

Oh, dear!

[quote]and no, Im not reading the other 161 replies to see if someone else posted this.....

I’ll never understand people like you.

Reading the thread, especially ones like this, is half the fun.

Not to mention the handy Ctrl + F feature, r186, which I use on long threads to avoid redundancy.

And I'm the toenail clippings under the desk that demonstrate the subpar housekeeping.

Thank you, r184!

I’m the macaroni noodle stuck to the wall right next to the toilet roll. I’ve lost my orange glow.

I'm the backdoor pilot.

I'm Ennis DelMar, so glad my buddy Jack finally showed up. I just know we're not gonna go to some bar and have a few beers. Been waitin' too long.

I'm the silverfish in the bathtub.

The location where Vinny and Mona of My Cousin Vinny stayed.

I'm the earwigs in the sink. They always seem to come in twos.

I'm the complimentary postcard in the desk drawer for those of you too cheap to buy a postcard.

I'm the linoleum floor tiles.

I'm American owned.

I'm Flagg in r196 's picture

I'm the accurate rating system.

I’m the indeterminate long-legged and winged insect perched on the wall. I’m not a mosquito, and I’m not a spider, but what I am is 100% creepy!

R194, one for each ear, I expect.

Im Consuela, cleaning up after Erna and her generou$ friend.

Im Consuela, cleaning up after Erna and her generou$ friend.

I used to be a Holiday Inn, but the parent company took my flag away when I got too disgusting.

At least they didn't take away my sign.

I don’t get r191.

R201 I never thought of that but it makes a lot of sense.

Someone please pull R205's Gay Card.

I'm the silly misconception on this thread that seedy motels have amenities like complementary breakfasts or free postcards.

Earwigs and Silverfish don't have wings.....

???? Didi anyone suggest that they had wings ? However if we're talking cockroaches then it's another kettle of fish - to mix a metaphor.

I'm a CD Motel.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Yes R210. R200 specifically mentioned a WINGED insect.

[quote]I’m the indeterminate long-legged and winged insect perched on the wall. I’m not a mosquito, and I’m not a spider, but what I am is 100% creepy! —Hey earwigs, hey silverfish, what up

I'm 9 rock hard glistening inches on a married down low heavy-balled sex-starved DMV supervisor on a long lunch break, coming towards your lubed, quivering, needy already gaping ass. Everything seedy is inconsequential at this moment.

R213, the fictitious insect is greeting the silverfish and earwigs, already mentioned in other posts.

I had some good times in seedy motels when I was younger

How exciting R215. Do carry on.....

Well, OH, R217, if you insist.

The mysterious insect waved at the earwig and the silverfish, They were all fast friends. "How do you do?" said the earwig. "Pretty well, thank you," said the silverfish. The three linked thoraxes and skipped merrily across the deep pile carpet, which held approximately six tons of cigarette ash and dandruff per square foot. "Mind the chalk outline," the mysterious insect said. They had a long way to travel - all the way to the bathroom shower drain, where the congregation was gathering to worship Shelob the Great.

Wow R218 what did you just smoke or inject? Oh my.

I'm the smell of curry emanating from the office/owner's quarters.

I'm the outdated port just waiting for someone to plug in their iPod.

I am the tiny camera that the sex offender maintenance guy has hidden in your room.

I'm the cobwebs in the corners that are constantly moving from the slightest change in the air circulation.

I'm the shocking violence in a Twin Peaks episode.

R220/r222 you're way too late.

I'm Lolita.

R218, I’ll give you eight episodes for season one

I the mid-aughts there was a notorious motel in Crossville, Tennessee. I think it was called the Congressional Motel. I went to mid-Tennessee around 2003 to do some genealogy research. By the time I pulled in to town, after a 10 hour drive from DC, I was exhausted and just wanted to check in and sleep. I knew it was bad when the desk clerk insisted on showing me the room and repeatedly asked me 'are you SURE you want to stay here?'. I said it was fine and checked in. But then the floor was squishy and there was a mood of impending doom, but I just went to sleep.

Next morning I checked out and drove a few miles to my second cousins. They told me they heard on the news that there had been a murder there that night, but I was so tired I slept right through. The next couple of days I stayed at a nice smaller motel.

A couple of years later I read on the Crossville Chronicle website that there was a strong movement to close down that motel, but it was difficult because the owner, a prominent local physician, had tremendous pull in local government so that he was untouchable. So the state inspectors got subpoenas and went in, and their report was revolting. They mentioned mushrooms and squishy carpets, but the worst was that swarms of cockroaches descended on their heads when they entered certain rooms.

Oops, lost in threads.

I’m the turd left by Bipolar April at 3am after she loudly announced,”I DONT REMEMBER AGREEING TO SUCK HIS COCK! 🎵The way we were🎵“

She’s not allowed in the parking lot. Avoid the parkway.

I'm the interstate highway located thirty feet from your room.

I'm the $50 note left on the dresser.

I'm the family of large waterbugs living behind the wall we will make our presence known after you've relaxed and decided to go to the bathroom to wash up before you get into bed.

In the 80s and 90s we made many 'visits' to seedy motels but, since we were receiving donatias of about $600/hour, inflatia adjusted, it was a breeze!

Walked past this establishment yesterday. Rooms rent $65/4hours.

I'm the sandpaper towels that are too small to comfortably wrap around your body.

I'm the stained bed sheets.

I'm the broken-down TV with rabbit ears that plays three stations: QVC, Fox News, and reruns of "Sanford & Son."

I’m the covid allotment of homeless people. None of the bodies sprawled in the parking lot are dead. They’ll wake about 5pm.

I'm the "fresh sheets" I've been on the bed through the last 2 cycles of guests now on the third group to stay in the room.

I'm remnants of Chore Boy.

I'm the weeds growing in the cracks of the parking lot pavement.

I'm the European who is never, ever coming to America after reading all this!!!!

Good! We don’t need you or your weird electrical plugs.

You mean working electrical plugs

I'm the peeling wallpaper.

r34, that place is still going strong as a respectable establishment. Location-location-location.

I’m the rude desk manager who treats you like a misbehaving child!