Part 4: Murphy’s Law rears its ugly head

By the time I was leaving the Enterprise Rent-A-Car parking lot in my shiny black Toyota Highlander, the rains had returned to George H.W. Bush International Airport and the city of Houston. It was pouring. I set out for my hotel room in this city of 2.2 million in the middle of the night, during a downpour, with no GPS, in a foreign vehicle that had everything in the wrong place. It took me five minutes just to find the windshield wiper switch. Exacerbating the situation was the fact that the Mapquest printout that I brought along from home was now wet, with ink running down the page in all the wrong places. Speeding down the Sam Houston Tollway with a thousand other freaks who had no reason to be out driving at this time of night, my first thought was that I had survived the flight from hell, only to be killed on a freeway in Houston. Frustrated with all the events of the previous 12 hours, things continued to get worse. It seemed to take forever to get to the Katy Freeway, where I would eventually find my hotel room. The aptly-named Sam Houston Tollway proved to be an annoyance in itself, as I stopped about every 400 feet to pay another $1.50 toll.
Finally, through the downpour I could see the exit for the Katy Freeway and I assumed I was home free. I turned on the frontage road, and if my blurry, ink-streaked map was correct, I would be pulling up to the Holiday Express almost immediately. I was mistaken. I drove far past where I thought the hotel should be before crossing under the freeway and heading back towards the toll road. I still saw no Holiday Express. I made this loop at least four times and still nothing. At 12:15 a.m. I called Kathy back in Tyler and had her fire up the computer. Parked in front of a large car dealer, I had her “Google” the name and give me the address to reassure myself that I was in the general vicinity. After a few minutes of feeding me street names I didn’t recognize, I let her go back to bed and I continued my futile search. According, once again, to my cell phone call log, I phoned the toll-free number for Holiday Express at 12:55 a.m. A lady with a very thick Asian accent tried to direct me to my hotel. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t do accents very well. I did gather from our conversation that I was on the right road, and I think she said something about the hotel being hidden behind a restaurant. I resisted the urge to get into a debate with her over whether or not this was a good marketing decision. Another two times around the loop and I was getting close to being out of patience. I pulled into a place called “Whataburger,” and failed in my attempt to enter when I found the doors locked. “Drive-through only after 11:00 p.m.” the sign said.
So drive through I did.
I ordered the “Double Meat Whataburger” and an order of fries. When I pulled up to the window, I relayed to the gentleman my sad story and indicated my inability to find the Holiday Express. A big smile crossed his face, and with a very thick Spanish accent, he pointed and nodded his head and proceeded to give me another set of instructions that I could not understand. I paid my bill, grabbed my bag of fast food, and continued my ill-fated search…albeit on my first full stomach since Sioux Falls.
It was shortly after 1:30 a.m. when I pulled into the parking lot of the Marriott Hotel. The front door was locked. I rang the service bell and a very nice lady came out to greet me. I apologized for disturbing her and again asked for directions to the competition. In full-blown English she graciously directed me to my destination, behind the Cattleman’s Restaurant. “It is hard to see the sign from the road,” she admitted. I robustly thanked her and promised that next time I would stay at the Marriott. With a hardy laugh, she sent me on my way.
I turned at the Cattleman’s Restaurant, and sure enough, there was the Holiday Express, tucked in behind the back parking lot.
I was so excited I nearly cried. I checked in at the front desk (again thinking I should keep my marketing suggestions to myself) and pulled around to the side parking lot.
Barely noticing I was getting drenched, I merrily gathered all my bags and was prepared to slide into my room…when I couldn’t find the keys I had just taken from my fancy Highlander’s ignition. Three quick searches from the steering wheel to the back storage area, including the puddles beneath the SUV, turned up nothing. I wasn’t going to leave it unlocked and unattended in the nation’s fourth largest city. Fourteen and a half hours after I lifted off the runway in Sioux Falls, I was standing in a motel parking lot in Houston in the pouring rain wondering what to do next.
Next week: Part 5—What next? Boils and the locusts?