Sure, Old Faithful was impressive, if a bit tardy in its appearance. Utah’s landscape is spectacular and otherworldly. Salt Lake City’s Temple Square structures are so impressive and pristine I contemplated becoming Mormon, raising thoughts of all the beautiful religious palaces throughout the world built to honor deities and as awe-inspiring recruitment tools.
Bison, coyotes, bears. Six hilarious chickens, Fira the horse, and Mango the pom.
Eric and Kathleen’s fun and beautiful wedding, where I met R2-D2. A Hollywood party populated with upstate NY transplants. Meals and sleepovers with old friends filled with laughter and meaningful conversation. A small MGM Grand jackpot. A Halloween costume party overlooking LA, where funds were raised for autism research and support activities and where I met the real Temple Grandin (in Western costume, of course).
A passing of a beloved coworker. Yet another one.
And the greatest event of all? The arrival of London Lynn Korbesmeyer. An exquisite new granddaughter of the sweetest disposition.
So with all this stimuli, what did I ruminate over while traveling the last leg of the trip, rumbling across the seemingly endless fields of Nebraska and Iowa? The following message left on the mirror of one of the forgettable motels we stayed in:
“Attention Guests:
Please respect the items that we have provided as you would respect your own amenities.
Thank you.”
I’ve never seen a sign like this, and I’ve seen a lot of motels and a lot of bars of soap and a lot of shower caps I’ve never used. How do you respect a bar of soap? I’ve been gifted serious soaps with fancy wrappings and exotic aromas. I’ve used them on my body, but have never seen my handling of them in anyway respectful or disrespectful. Wait, let me think. Nope. No disrespect intended. Soap. Utilitarian at its best. So if respect has never entered into my “own amenities,” where do I begin to respect the items that they have provided?
More disturbing was my contemplating why an establishment feels the need to have such a sign printed and placed on all their mirrors. (I’m assuming every room had one, though I can’t swear to it. Was our room the only one? Were we being targeted because…no, I’m not going to go there.). What were people doing to show their disrespect? Putting shower caps over the lamp shades? Carving dirty words into the soap? Words like, “scum”? Building satanic altars with the shampoo and conditioner bottles?
I’m still wondering about that sign. The downside is the time spent trying to understand the message provided no solace and led to some sleepless moments. The upside? It got me through Nebraska.