Oracle Online

Thinking, “Well, this is it,” I pull into the parking lot and take a deep breath. The check-in office is tiny, and bears a resemblance to a '70s doctor’s office. There are a few brown chairs and a small table with coffee pots filled with water-anticipating the coming morning. I will definitely need that tomorrow.

I am the lone guest in the office and can hear a TV coming from behind the counter. After some shuffling, there appears a somewhat disgruntled-looking man, giving me a “What are you doing here?” look. I ask for a room with two beds.

The man behind the counter is named Omar. He mumbles a lot, and either he doesn’t understand much English or he doesn’t want to talk to me.

I pull Omar’s sleeve to give me top-secret information, like who exactly stays at the Midway Motel. Guests come from all over the country and world, he says. The Minnesota State Fair week is the busy season and might be the only time one could read “no vacancy” on the neon sign. Omar tells me not to talk to the guests, as I might scare them away.

As I head out of the office, a young gentleman close to my age asks if I am a reporter. I am suspicious and paranoid, and I question his motives for talking to me. I give a non-answer and head to my room.

The young gentleman from the office comes outside and I realize he has a few tennis rackets on his back. I decide to talk to him. He is here for spring break, visiting relatives; he’s a North Dakota State University student in a quarter-life crisis, questioning the value of college, and is considering the life of fire-fighting.

A young gentleman is named Tom and he asks me where he can go have some fun. Not my room. I direct him to Grand Avenue, and then he tells me I have beautiful eyes. I knew it! I politely decline, and we part ways. I go back to my room.

As I head up to the second floor (swanky, I know), a few older guests smile at me and say hi. This isn’t so bad.

I enter Room 34 and am immediately surprised at the floor space in the habitation. At first glance, the room isn’t too scary. I settle in, turn on the TV, and realize there is HBO. Sweet.

I raid the room for anything incriminating. The desk drawers reveal to me a lone black glove, somewhat dirty. O.J.? I close the drawer immediately. The next drawer holds the Holy Bible, a used napkin and an old issue of the Pioneer Press.

I decide to go up to SuperAmerica and get some water. As I am leaving the room, I feel as though I am being watched. I see a figure out of my peripheral vision. In the room perpendicular to mine, a man with short black curly hair and a white undershirt on is standing in his room window, pulling the curtains back and staring at me. I try not to make eye contact.

I go down to my car and realize he is still standing in the window. I chuckle to myself, and drive off to fetch my water.

I go back into the room and try to do a little bit of physics homework. Then I decide to see what was on HBO. The Lake House. I hadn’t heard great things about the film, but it is more distracting than physics. Imagine that. After an hour or so, it’s time for bed.

The time is 11 p.m. The person who agreed to stay with me still hasn’t shown up from a wild night out on the town. Just as I am about to fall asleep, he calls me from outside my room. I’m crabby. I reluctantly let him in, and Curtain Boy just has to get a peek of this. A young college reporter has male guest at late hours of the night. I begin to wonder who here is doing the investigating.

My friend comes in and comments on Curtain Boy. Evidently he got a better look at the guy than I dared to. Our mysterious neighbor was up for a little competition. The two apparently engaged in a stare down, Curtain Boy being the first to give in with the head nod.

I have grown curious of Curtain Boy more than I ever cared to. I consider knocking on his door, but my guest knocks sense into me. I decide if Curtain Boy is centerpiece to the window when morning arrives, I will make my move.

I lay down to bed but as I drift off, there is a mysterious noise that sounds like a very hungry stomach. I ask my guest if it’s him. It isn’t. I go to sleep.

It’s 8 a.m. and I have “Just Another Manic Monday” in my head. I feel disgusting. I fumble my way down to the office for a cup of an excuse for coffee, and it helps me open my eyes.

I go get ready for class. As I tweeze my eyebrows in the pregnant light of dawn, I ponder my experience at the motel and realize I still don’t know Curtain Boy’s story. I also can’t decide if I want to.

I step outside and enjoy a cigarette from the balcony. No ruffling of the drapes. I suddenly feel a little nostalgic for Peeper Peeperson. What fun is this? No drama?

The only action to be seen at 8 a.m. is the cleaning crew that has just arrived. At least they have a cleaning crew, I think to myself. Still, I feel slimy and realize I didn’t have time for a shower before class.

I check out at $55 plus tax; sadly, Omar is not at the desk.

As I drive away, I silently wish Curtain Boy to find whatever it is he is looking for in life. I also thank my lucky stars for not having to spend my spring break at the Midway Motel as lady’s man, Tom, was about to regret.

My guess is that despite its popularity with State Fair out-of-towners who have no idea what they’re getting into, the Midway Motel is a cheap alternative for wanderers of this world. A no-tell motel? Quite possibly.