On Hobos and Rickshaw Riders

Well, our bosses bought permits for us to work across the bay at St. Pete. The place was a ghost town. Today I plan to go fishing.

Adventures in living in a hooker motel:

Meanwhile…were cloistered the whole day at the hotel, the cramped, stinky, slum hotel.
Earlier, I was in the hotel lobby, fetching some free coffee (our only amenity). I overhear the desk lady, a manager, and the housekeeping staff complaining about the rickshaw riders.
“They have their laundry hanging out the windows, and they are just packed in there”
“I think they snuck in more people, I can’t watch everything.”

I pour my coffee in silence, only looking up to reach for the non-dairy creamer. The hotel staff gets quiet for a second when they recognize me.
“Hey, you’re in 140, yea?”
Me: “mmmhmmm.”
“You can’t hang your laundry out the window. It doesn’t look good.”
Me (in my best lying to petty authority figures voice): “Oh. Well. Um, I’ll get right on that. Bring it up in committee.”
“And how many people are staying in your rooms?”
Me: “four.” I raise an eyebrow.
What I thought loudly but didn’t say: “Listen B, this is a slum town, flea bag, hooker hotel. And we’re too trashy for you? Go Eff yourself!” instead I take my coffee and leave.

The next morning there was a hooker walking the motel property in translucent high heels and a small, white bikini. The hotel staff called the cops on her after she started to go door to door looking for business. I was in the motel lobby drinking crappy coffee and using the wifi. The hooker came in to confront the staff.
“How can you tell me to put clothes on and then tell me to leave?” I look up. Her ass is hanging out. “This is a prejudice issue…well Obama is president! How the hell can you tell me to put on clothes, I’ll come over this counter and slap your face.” She turns and looks at me, I notice that her eyebrows have been replaced with rhinestones. “This is effed up.” I nod and close my laptop. I get up to leave. The last thing I hear as I step out the door is the motel manager:
“Miss, this is a family establishment.” I almost laugh out loud at the audacity of the motel lady. It would seem to me that the working girl’s only crime was a lack of subtlety.