I’ll admit it. All of the young hotties on the cruise ship made me feel like crap about myself. My descent into fatterosity happened in a blink of an eye, and I was resenting the fact that I was so blubbular in their presence.
So, when we left the lap of opulent luxury of the cruise ship for our two day stay in Ft. Lauderdale to visit Kevin’s daughter, Beth, I had yet another rude awakening and reality check.
On the internet, what looked to be a beautiful, yet inexpensive, venue right on the beach turned out to be our stay at the Ghetto Fabulous Inn. When staying somewhere right on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale and you get a suite for $89 a night, you should always be wary.
We stepped into the living room and I nearly choked. The carpeting and furniture were all from about 1940, and hadn’t been cleaned since at least 1945. Stains were everywhere and there was an abundance of holes in the foundation that I was sure would allow Florida’s friendly little lizards to join us in bed and in our luggage. I was aghast. All of the non-porous surfaces were clean, though, and I decided to be a good sport and stick it out, since we were only going to be sleeping there for two nights. I knew most of our time would be spent with Beth or on the beach.
As I was exploring the room, I found this little wall safe. Now, I was intrigued.
The type of safe that needed a combination to open and was actually recessed into the wall made my imagination run rampant. A closer look at my surroundings made me realize that I was being housed in a place that was once, no doubt, a grand old madame on the beach.
The corner windows were now covered with ghastly striped curtains and the current view was that of concrete and roadway. Sixty years ago, before the Trump Towers and A1A obscured the view, it must have been a straight shot to the ocean.
Our view. If you look to the right, you'll see a tiny snippet of ocean.
I could see that in her day, the place must have been a popular stopping spot for the well-to-do who were waiting for their cruise ship to take them, their gambling winnings and/or cocaine that they’d stashed in the wall safe to Cuba. Mental images of the likes of Bogie and Bacall frolicking there began to form in my mind.
I felt a kinship with her decay.
Saddened by the wrinkles in her skin and her outdated wardrobe, I related to the beauty she had lost, just as mine had changed so drastically. Her constant urinary tract infection was evident when the toilet flushed. Her vision was dimmed by the ineffective lighting.
Congestive heart failure…heart attack…umm…lizards in the luggage…uh…seizure disorder…arthritis…
Oh, screw it. We stayed in a shithole.