Wednesday, March 25, 2009

picture this...

it's your last wake-up on caye caulker, belize, and you're milking the system (sunrise, coffee, rooftop, etc.) for every last drop of Heaven. ..just you (no shirt, no shoes), a notebook, a pen, and a worn-out digital camera.

your writing inspirations subside, which is all-ways a sign that it's time to put down the pen.

you go back downstairs, but when you try to open your hotel-room door, it's locked!

you remember leaving it open, just a half-hour ago. always leave it open when you go for coffee, because the room key (placed in a slot on the wall) is what keeps the electricity on.

a surge of thoughts run through your head:

* did i lock it by accident?
* did the cleaning ladies come at 6:30 a.m.?

* is it just stuck?

* what if a burglar is in there, robbing me blind?

* i never lock it in the morning...

(you try it again)

* will there be someone downstairs at the front desk?
* what if they don't have a spare key? i mean, this is a foreign country... what if they don't make keys, here in belize?

* why did my family ever take-in a poodle named "barbette"?

* what if the universe is spiraling into a gigantic black hole?

* why do f.s.u. athletes always break the rules?

* will i end up stuck here on an island forever?
* am i stupid or something?


* wait... what if it works this time?

(you jiggle it again, harder!)

* what the...???
* how in God's name could i have locked this thing???

it's a panic. ..sirens are going off in your head, the earth is shattering, and you're wondering how in the world you'll ever get yourself out of this mess...

now, mind you, in the back of your mind, you are watching the drama unfold. are chuckling at your own silly thoughts. know that the staff is at the front desk, 24-7. know that there's a spare key. know that it's only ten steps downstairs, and you know that they won't think you're stupid (they'll just laugh and give you another key).

you know that everything is going to be alright, because every damn thing has all-ways been all-right, every single time. ..even the worst of things "passed," and It Is. All. Right... All of the time!

(you jiggle the stubborn thing one more time, even harder!)

...and (shockingly) the door begins to open (from the inside)

* holy sh...!
* somebody is in there!

* what the...????

and then...

there's this old guy, standing there, looking out at you as if you had lobsters crawling out of your ears...

...and you say the first thing that comes to your mind:

"oooooo, uh, sorry! ..i'm on the wrong floor."


and that's all i've got to say about that.

i'm in 209, not 309.

* i wonder what he and his wife were thinking when they saw the madman who was trying to get into their room...


just another kodak moment -- here in lenny's world.



  1. Bro!

    Somebody once called you a "goober" in a comment to one of your posts (I think it was Beth).

    She was RIGHT. Then.

    Now you have elevated your status to "Supergoober".

    Congratulations!! :*)

    xoxoxo, me

  2. I LOVE that status!

    In fact, if we use Uni-Verse-All reflection to turn that "b" into a "d", I'd be a Super-good-er!

    Don't worry, there'll be no SG tatoos or additional silly letters after my name (just yet).

    Your blood,
    Love, Len

  3. PS: Clare, did you get the "barbette" reference?

    I was hoping that you'd get a laugh out of that :) :) :)

  4. Yeah...I got it. Took me a minute, tho. I always thought it was "bobbette".

    Have I ever, in my whole life, pronounced an 'r' ???

    xoxoxo, me

  5. Hi, Clare!

    Maybe it WAS "bobbette." I never paid much attention. Can you pull a Sherlie-lock Holmes and check it out for me?

    I'd HATE to be "a little off" in my blog.

    Now, that's funny!


    Love, Love, Love,

  6. Hi Lenny!

    I did laugh a lot at your story, because at the Taipae Guest House in Chiang Mai you were in the room below me. One night (okay, maybe after a bit of wine), I walked up not quite enough steps, got ready to put my key in the door, and thought, "Why are there men's sandals outside my door??" Took me a few panicked seconds to realize that it wasn't my floor. :)

    Loved seeing your traveling blog...have fun, wherever you are!


  7. That reminds me of the time that I had knocked at the door of a complete stranger with my two little girls outside the door with their sleeping bags and over night bags. I wonder what she thought when she opened the door?

    It was either "no way in H### am I taking your kids lady". Or "heaven must have sent you from above".

  8. On the "barbette/bobbette" one seems to know for sure how to spell or pronounce that d%@* dog's name. Evidently, she came to the Martineau household already monikered.

    I think you can be a "little off" on this one with confidence. That was one STRANGE pooch!

    xoxoxo, me

  9. Hi, Elsa, Judy, & Clare!

    Yes, several of my friends:

    * Lori, my high school sweetheart,
    * Claudia, our georgia peach in Australia,
    * Eliane, world traveler & Thailand buddy,
    ...and many more... have sent me e-mails stating that they have also "knocked on the wrong door" (so to speak).

    I LOVE it!

    Yeah, Clare, I think that Barb-Bob-Barb, Barb-Bob-Barbettee cured me of any desire to ever have a pet.

    ...or maybe it was "Marty," doing flight patterns over the kitchen table. :)