Between Here and There- They left the light on for us.

A grimy motel bathtub from a disastrous overnight stay during unexpected travel delays and missed connections.

We left Salt Lake City at 5:00 a.m., headed for Tallahassee. Fifteen minutes out of Dallas, the pilot announced, “We’re surrounded by storms and running low on fuel.” We diverted to Oklahoma City.

When we finally arrived in Tallahassee at 1 a.m., the rental counters were closed. No cars were available.

We had no car, no place to stay, and no plan.

My husband was sick. My seventeen-year-old son was tired, hungry, and his nose was bleeding. As my son dragged our bags, leaving a faint trail of blood, my husband walked the dogs, and I scrolled through hotel options at 1:30 a.m.

The first place I saw that allowed dogs was a Motel 6.

Cool.

I called, made a reservation with someone in India, and ordered a Lyft.

When we got in the car and gave the address, the driver asked, “Are you joking?”

“Is it a bad hotel?” I asked.

He paused. “I won’t comment. But I see things. Lots of things. Nasty things.”

Noted.

We pulled up to the Motel 6. The driver dropped us off and peeled out, dirt and gravel flying.

It was dark, but we could see the building was covered in graffiti. Sketchy, sure. But we just needed a place to sleep.

The lobby door was locked. I knocked.

A woman inside stood and pointed to a bulletproof window.

Somewhere in my brain, an alarm bell rang. I stomped it down.

“I have a reservation,” I said.

She looked confused. “Here?”

“Yes. You have rooms, right?”

“Yes.”

“I booked on the phone.”

Another pause. “For here?”

“I thought so.”

She nodded slowly. “I need to explain a few things about the property, and then you can decide. We don’t have phones, internet, or keys.”

“You don’t have keys?”

“We’re out of plastic keys. I can walk you to your room and open it for you.”

I asked, “Is this place safe?”

She said yes.

“Are you safe?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll take it.”

We followed her to the room.

She opened the door.

The curtains were half-attached. The furniture was crumbling. The walls were stained. It smelled like cigarettes and dirt. A 1960s-era sticker on the door read Keep locked for your safety.

There were holes where the lock had been.

Luckily, we had fourteen pounds of Maltese and Yorkie for protection.

I pulled back the blanket. The sheets looked passable. I sniffed.

Faint scent of laundry soap and cigarettes.

Good enough.

My son stared at the bed in horror.

“How much sex juice do you think is on this bed?”

“About twenty years’ worth,” I answered.

I went into the bathroom and tried to sit on the toilet.

The seat wasn’t attached.

The seat and I flew into the bathtub.

The tub was vile.

I climbed out and peed standing up.

There was no toilet paper.

I asked my husband to call the front desk.

He picked up the phone. Disconnected.

He went in person.

“She said they don’t have any toilet paper in the motel,” he reported. “But she’ll try to find some.”

Maybe she sho

uld have skipped no internet and led with no toilet paper.

A few minutes later, she knocked, holding about a third of a roll.

“Is that used?” my son asked.

My husband examined it. “Looks like it.”

My son lost it.

“I’m not sleeping here.”

All my remaining patience was gone.

“Well,” I said, “you can’t sleep in the car because we don’t have one. And if you’re thinking about the bathtub, I’d take a look first.”

I stripped his bed and checked for bedbugs, needles, poop, meth, roaches, dead bodies, or visible body fluids.

None.

He lay on a single sheet, wearing two layers of clothes, with a puppy pad over his pillow. He pulled a hoodie over his head and surrendered.

We slept.

At 6 a.m., I woke up.

It looked worse in daylight.

On our way out, our feet crunched over cigarette butts and dead bugs lining the walkway.

We left, picked up a rental car, and resumed our vacation.

Later, I posted a Google review.

A few days after that, a customer service representative called and offered me two free nights if I’d give them another chance—and remove my review.

She said the motel was under new management and being renovated.

I told her it had been ten days since I’d stayed there.

I declined.