The Backyardigan
Member
- Joined
- Oct 11, 2002
- Messages
- 162
Folks that know me have heard this story before...
Almost 10 years ago, I was covering the American Legion baseball state championship series in a podunk town. I knew the place had no phone lines (this, of course, is pre-wireless), but my deadline wasn't crazy and I knew a hotel was 5 minutes down the road. Game ends at 9, story is done at 9:30, and I have til 10:15 to get over there and file. I'm not worried.
Until I get there.
The manager won't let me use a room to file. I even show him my credit card, and tell him I only need five minutes to send it in. It's getting closer to 10 and I am starting to worry. I keep lobbying to the manager and then it happens.
Some lady overhears our conversation. She's in her mid-30s, and understands my plight.
"He won't let you use a room!?! Come with me."
I'm like, 'uh, O.K.' So, she takes me back to her room (no, THAT didn't happen) and opens the door.
You should have seen the look on her husband's face at first, and especially her poor 9-year old son who woke up when the light came on. I hurriedly sent in the story, and made deadline by a few minutes.
Yes, nothing like sending a story from some woman's hotel room. Feel free to embellish this in your next letter to Penthouse.
Almost 10 years ago, I was covering the American Legion baseball state championship series in a podunk town. I knew the place had no phone lines (this, of course, is pre-wireless), but my deadline wasn't crazy and I knew a hotel was 5 minutes down the road. Game ends at 9, story is done at 9:30, and I have til 10:15 to get over there and file. I'm not worried.
Until I get there.
The manager won't let me use a room to file. I even show him my credit card, and tell him I only need five minutes to send it in. It's getting closer to 10 and I am starting to worry. I keep lobbying to the manager and then it happens.
Some lady overhears our conversation. She's in her mid-30s, and understands my plight.
"He won't let you use a room!?! Come with me."
I'm like, 'uh, O.K.' So, she takes me back to her room (no, THAT didn't happen) and opens the door.
You should have seen the look on her husband's face at first, and especially her poor 9-year old son who woke up when the light came on. I hurriedly sent in the story, and made deadline by a few minutes.
Yes, nothing like sending a story from some woman's hotel room. Feel free to embellish this in your next letter to Penthouse.
