I delivered to the always culturally rich Ramona Valley Inn a while back. As always, it was chalked full of thespians and Rhode Scholars that were cos-playing as heroin fiends and members of ISIS. They were wearing such realistic costumes, too. The track marks and missing teeth really hit their creative points home.
Anyway, it was well beyond the time in which civilized patrons should be consuming greased up dough and dairy. That's why it only makes good sense that when I got to the second floor of the complex and knocked on the door, a dude in his early 20's answered the door with what looked like a head of hair that an elephant seal had blown a load in. He was also sporting a suede button-up shirt and designer jeans that screamed that it was party time. I was even more ecstatic about the situation when John Travolta's gayer twin opened the door the entire way and I noticed another smaller, but equally gelled up guido sitting on the bed.
I may be over thinking things here. I mean, maybe it's perfectly normal for two guys in their mid-20's to rent a room at a hotel that looks like it charges by the hour. I'm sure it's also perfectly normal to have two metrosexuals spending the night in a room while looking like walking talking fire hazards. Seriously, if someone dunked these two charmers into the Pacific Ocean they'd make the Exxon Valdez spill look like someone dropped a stick of butter off the bow of a four person pontoon.
What really struck me as odd about the two gentleman is that they were completely uninterested in the pizza. They both were focusing their attention in on me. I'm not being egotistical or anything. They were simply ignoring the pizza and inviting me in to party with them. It wasn't a casual fist bump or a friendly invitation either. The main man at the door was trying to entice me into the room by offering me a bottle of Grey goose. I'm not doing the conversation justice, though, so here it is:
JT: Hey, you want to come in?
ME: No, that's okay.
JT: Aw, come on. We have some Grey Goose. We'll let you have the bottle.
ME: ....uhhh....No thanks. I appreciate the offer, though.
JT: Are you sure??
ME: Yeah. I don't think my boss would appreciate me drinking or hanging out on the clock.
JT: What time do you get off work? You should come over after your done.
ME: I get off way too late. Like 1 or 2am.
JT: That's perfect. Come on over after that. Are you sure you don't want to come in for a while?
ME: Yeah, I'm good.
JT: Ummm, well, we'll have some chicks over later. You should come over and come inside when you're done with work. They'll be waiting.
ME: Sounds like a great time....
JT: So, see you later?
ME: Yeah....
I went back to the hotel after I got off work, walked in and was promptly bound, gagged and skull fucked by what looked like two extras from Goodfellas for the better part of the AM hours. I was essentially the baked good in a horrible game of soggy biscuit.
Just kidding, I got the fuck out of there and told my boss there was no chance in hell I was going back to that complex again. These assholes were literally trying to lure me into their room. I really think that the bottle of Grey Goose that they were offering me wasn't for drinking. I'm thinking that they had a literal goose that they were going to try and shove up my ass.
Homeboy number one's lie about supposed women showing up later was oh-so convincing too. I'm sure there were shorties just lining up for a chance to party in a run-down hotel room that smelled of pomade and baby oil. The enlarged pupils, excessive winking and effeminate way in which the men tried to entice me in almost sold me on the prospect of a slew of smokin' hot hotties showing up.
Just a little helpful advice to all those testing the rape waters out there. At least try and be convincing. Pay a hooker to stand a few dozen feet away from the door to at least make a case for a woman eventually showing up. Also, don't be overly persistent. Ask once, if the intended victim doesn't bite, odds are their asshole is clenched and their awareness is peaked. Also, in my case, people knew where I was. I mean, my boss and co-workers are fully aware of where I went, so don't treat me like I'm a Craigslist victim that got duped into meeting underneath a bridge overpass. I'm a pizza delivery guy with his brown cherry intact, and dammit, that's the way it's going to stay.
