Found socks/lost dignity: my night at Kalahari Resort

(655 words)

The previous occupant of my hotel room inadvertently challenged me with a moral dilemma upon my Tuesday check-in.

He’d left behind a pair of old athletic socks in the dresser. Housekeeping either missed them or sensed the new Mr. Room 7256 was going to need some socks.

So before I can even begin unpacking, I have to pause and decide if I’m going to keep them, toss them, or go to the trouble of trying to return them to the original owner.

Dingy white and a bit worn, they weren’t fancy socks. But I could tell at one time they were special. Someone — perhaps a nimble wife — had taken the time to seamlessly weave the owner’s name in both soles up near the toes.

Guy’s name was Hanes.

When I got home and told my family the story of Hanes’ socks, my oldest daughter sarcastically pointed out Hanes was the name of a popular sock and underwear manufacturer.

I said that could be a coincidence.

Of course, I kept them. 

Stole a towel, too!

I’m kidding about the towel.

It wouldn’t have matched the ones I stole from Marriott.

I wish Hanes had left me his swim trunks.

I was overnighting at the Kalahari Resorts & Conventions in the Poconos, home to one of the world’s largest indoor waterparks. The place, opened July 1, is fabulous.

I was there to speak to the Middle Pennsylvania Meeting Professionals International.

I didn’t take my swim trunks because I have this quaint notion I shouldn’t have family kinds of fun without my family.

Plus, I didn’t think it would look too good for a man who’s about to speak to about 60 meeting professionals to be seen shirtless in a line with a dozen 10 year olds all waiting to go, “Wheee!!!”

And what if one of the kids tried to cut in line?

I’d have to do the socially responsible thing and shove his head underwater until he either passed out or learned some proper manners.

It takes a village.

It is my custom whenever I’m on the road to just stay in the room, order a pizza, strip down to my boxers and watch whatever the hell I want for as long as I want. 

And that’s just what I did.

For a guy who’s been a married father as long as I’ve been, that beats even springing for a hooker.

But I felt a bit chagrined I didn’t take a dip.

Especially later after I talked to a guy who said it was a blast. 

“I spent the whole afternoon out there,” he said. “It’s fantastic. They have these huge slides that go clear outside the building and back. I did the surfing thing, the big swirlie, and the rapid raft slides. It was so much fun. Haven’t you gone yet?”

I told him about my self-imposed prohibition about not having any fun that might make my kids envious.

“And by doing that, just what kind of lesson are you hoping to teach them?”

I mumbled an answer about the importance of shared enjoyment in the family dynamic.

“C’mon,” he said. “You must sacrifice long nights in the office for their sake. Man, you earn this.”

Telling him my idea of sacrifice was not starting my daily Happy Hour until 4:30 p.m. wouldn’t have strengthened my argument, so I asked if he was going to tell his kids about his time at the water park.

“Tell ‘em? I spent the afternoon texting taunting selfies.”

He went on, but I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to stand around and let some yahoo ridicule me for my innate decency.

Had I stayed around any longer, it might have gotten awkward.

I might have told him to shove a sock in it and wait right there while I ran up to my room and got the ones Hanes left behind.

Related . . .

True room service: sex with the maid

A long story about bikers & blue socks

My compliments: My day with the PR&LA

Noah at the wave pool

Put some clothes on, America!

The story of my webbed toes & other human oddities

Mom & the friendly hooker

My mother spends about 10 hours a week working at a local temp agency. It’s her job to screen applicants and make snap judgements about their character.

It’s not an easy for a 76-year-old grandmother to have to be thrust into the work force and I wish she didn’t have to. I wish I could throw money at her to stay home and watch our kids, but I don’t have the scratch. Like the down-and-out who stop to see her seeking work, times are tough for me, too.

I give her what I can when I can and hope things improve.

She insists she enjoys getting out of the house and meeting interesting people, but some of her duties challenge her sweet innocence. She likes to believe that everyone she meets shares her values of candor and virtue.

She’s shocked to learn the world is full of desperate scoundrels. Another life lesson was imparted last week when a smartly dressed young woman marched in and gave her a bright, confident hello.

“Oh, she seemed like such a go-getter,” she said, shaking her head in recollection. “I gave her the application, looked over her answers and wrote down that she seemed like a very nice and hard-working young lady, a real opportunist.”

Mom was surprised to later learn that she was wrong on at least one count. They did a routine background check and found the woman was untruthful.

“Turns out she’d been arrested three times for prostitution.”

I’d argue that Mom deserves a raise because her assessment was right on the money.

Being a “hard” worker must fall into some aspect of every prostitute’s job description or they won’t be prostituting long enough to get busted three times. In fact, I think the woman’s only mistake was concealing her arrest record.

Think of the job skills this woman possesses.

She’s demonstrated great one-on-one people skills working in a competitive environment. She was responsible for finding and satisfying her own customers.

And I think she’d be appealing to today’s heartless corporate entities who are interested in a docile and uncomplaining workforce. She’s unlikely to ever complain about getting screwed.

Really, if we were at all honest about it, she’d probably be a better hire than most of the other applicants seeking to bounce back from being laid off from manufacturing or retail jobs.

She’s certainly motivated and her apparent willingness to turn her life around is exemplary.

When you think about it, Mom would be crazy to refer me, her own son, for any job over the friendly hooker.

What do I have to offer? My primary skill as a writer is that I tell distracting stories. Who needs a guy like that around the office?

Prostitutes get right down to business. No talk, no bull. They’re all about action.

If Mom and I were serious about earning real money, we’d concentrate on hiring a bunch of hookers to do things like clean houses or run a smart little coffee shop.

Mom told me the story as I was strapping the 3 year old into the car seat after a daylong frolic with Nana. I was heading home and she was heading out to meet friends for dinner.

I reached into my wallet and told Mom, hey, here take this. It’s on me.

She said, no, she just got paid. Things were fine, she said. Maybe some other time.

So I put the money back in my wallet, sheepishly relieved she’d said no.

Still just so she’d go back inside not thinking her son’s a total failure, I said, “Mom, you know you just turned down $1,000?”

She rushed back and said, “I’ll take it!”

We both laughed. She knew I was joking. Still, I was surprised at her eager about-face on my offer.

I guess there’s a little opportunistic go-getter in even the nicest people.