I have an awful headache and really don’t feel like writing this article today. I get them often; sometimes the timing is terrible. Since I missed a couple of weeks in June already, I felt obligated to write this week, only I didn’t.
That was last week. The migraine was too much. It won the battle but won’t win the war. I’m back this week without the achy head. This time, it’s just the shoulders, knees, toes and hip. But I’m OK.
People often tell me how much they miss me when I’m not in the paper. I miss me when I’m not in the paper too. I enjoy writing. It’s fun, rewarding and therapeutic. But sometimes I just can’t get it done. The creative door closes for a wide range of reasons and you just never know what’s happening on the other side of that door.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a wonderful speaking opportunity for the Louisiana Propane Gas Association in Gulf Breeze, Florida. It was a wonderful, patriotic crowd. My point of contact was dressed as Rosie the Riveter while the president of the association was dressed as Uncle Sam. Both Rosie and Sam are now my friends.
They left this very kind review on Gig Masters.
I wasn’t sure what to expect in a stuttering comedian but Jody delivered above and beyond! He had the whole room laughing nonstop and even received a standing ovation at the end of his set. His act was clean, family friendly, heartfelt and, most of all, hilarious! I would definitely recommend Jody to other organizations and events looking to add some laughter and fun to their agenda. We would hire him again in an instant! Jody was easy to work with and very accommodating. Couldn’t have asked for a more professional or nicer guy!
I wasn’t super confident after my 59-minute talk. I felt that I’d messed up a time or two, and I did, only they didn’t know. It just didn’t feel right. Of course, we’re always our own worst critic. Everyone was so nice. I could have stayed the night but I just felt like I needed to get back home. I tried but I didn’t make it.
I drove as long as I could. I stopped for Whataburger on the Florida-Alabama state line in the town of Century on the south side of the border. I thought that would give me the energy to make it but my attempt at battling fatigue was as futile as the French fries surviving a dip in the spicy ketchup. It just wasn’t happening.
There weren’t many motels in the area. In fact, an online search had me backtracking 30 miles just to find one that didn’t come with an axe murderer in the closet, so I trekked on until I found a suitable place to lay my head. There’s no telling where the axe murderer would’ve laid my head.
I finally made it to an exit with three motels and I stopped at all three. One was too hot, one was too cold and one was just right, although water from the air conditioner had leaked onto the carpet. I didn’t care. I was tired. I didn’t feel good. I just wanted to get horizontal.
I slept soundly. Usually I don’t sleep worth a toot when I’m on the road.
I was awakened around the crack of nine by a knock at the door. Who could it be? Axe murderers usually work at night. I looked through the peephole and saw the housekeeper there. She knocked again.
“I’m still here!” I shouted.
Not in a mean way, mind you. Just loud enough for her to hear me. Shortly thereafter, she walked away.
I laid back down. A half hour later, she was knocking again.
“I’m still here!” I shouted.
Again, not in a mean way. This time it was in a “leave me the heck alone” kind of way.
She knocked again. I would have opened the door but I wasn’t exactly dressed for guests.
“Why the heck don’t they have ‘do not disturb’ signs here?” I thought to myself as I turned around and saw the “do not disturb” sign lying on the desk.
“My bad,” I thought to myself once again.
When I was putting my stuff in the car, she was about three doors down, small letters, actual rooms, not the American rock band from Escatawpa, Mississippi. She looked at me and smiled. I was dressed by this point. She held up a finger — no, not that one — followed by another one and lastly a whole hand of digits.
“One-One-Five?” she asked without saying a word.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. That’s the room I was in.
“Thank you,” she said without saying a word. You see, I’m pretty sure she was deaf. And I’m certain I felt like a horrible human being — not quite axe murderer horrible but horrible nonetheless.
She was just doing her job and I failed to see the signs, figuratively and literally. Lesson learned.
For what it’s worth, this sweet lady may be all about Three Doors Down. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell anything about anyone when you’re only looking through the peephole.