nanowrimo 2k9

“What the hell!?”
Chuff opened his eyes. The haired one was standing over him in socks and boxers.

“Boy, you want to watch the teevee, you just turn the damn thing on! What is this? Looks like you were trying to make it into a movie alien to make out with the damn thing! And what the hell are you watching? The golf channel? Shit boy, we still got enough to buy some filthy movies! Don’t bother us, hell, we were asleep!”

Chuff actually only caught the last half of that when the blanket was pulled off his face. He had, apparently settled for the golf channel. And was suddenly, very cold. His stomach was boiling, and the faint sunlight was burning the back of his head. Chuff jumped past the ranting acquaintance and made a bee-line for the bathroom.

“Don’t spend all day in there either, boy, we got a continental breakfast and an important IMPORTANT meeting for you to observe.”

Having his face in the toilet never seemed so appealing, at least it was the first use since check-in, he poured a bowlful of sandwich-tequila chowder, and rolled to the side, bumping his head on a cabinet. That woke him up quickly, and he flushed the toilet started the shower, and jumped straight in. The water was scalding hot, which helped him after the initial shock, which had him screaming and elicited howls of laughter from his unfortunate compatriots.

He finished the shower quickly and found the two men in some kind of competition for telling a war story the loudest for rights to the next shower. The older balder man finally made a break for it and won beacause he started first and was closer to the bathroom. Sometimes, life is about the simpler stuff.

While the haired man was stomping small circles by the front door. Chuff managed to change with a little bit of dignity, and was brushing his teeth in no time. The older folks went through their torturous routines, and he managed to pull the cot back and watch a bit more tv. When the haired man was finally putting his shoes on. He stood up and announced “Breakfast time, boys! Last one to the doughnuts is a rotten som-bitch egg!”

Chuff made it out to the lobby, and saw its glorious victuals, there was a concentrated orange juice dispenser, a waffle mix dispenser next to a waffle griddle. There was also a basket of biscuits with a standalone gravy dispenser. On the opposite counter were piles of bagels with a toaster, and finally: a doughnut rack. Also, some rack with fruit and oatmeal and shit. And of course, coffee. Chuff jumped at it, grabbing a juice glass and pouring syrup into it. “Fantastic!”, he thought, dipping a stale doughnut into it.

The other marketing assholes caught up quickly, and made their own cereal out of powdered milk (not mentioned), gravy and jam. Of course they sprinkled some special K over the top. After a long bout of breathless, standing gobbling. Between gasps, they managed to plan a way out of the hotel, but not before they helped themselves to an armful of cream cheese and cups of syrup and gravy. Marketing assholes always crave the simplest most primitive carbohydrates.

Chuff pulled a one-quart freezer bag from his pocket and filled it to near bursting with gravy and biscuit crumbs, before stuffing it into a hidden pocket in his shirt, and grabbed one last doughnut. Finally, before making his way out the front doors, he covered it with pepper and tabasco sauce.

Outside the door, the marketing assholes noisily finished the last bites of the free food, and did an MA Huddle. The MA Huddle was a sign of comaraderie in which they put their hands together and belched loudly, before turning around and blowing snot out their nose on to the sidewalk.

Chuff was finally getting into the groove. The amount of black pepper and tabasco on the last doughnut had ignited his passions and he was full of belches and mucous. At the end of the huddle, they all wiped their mouths with the back of their hands and walked towards the cab stand.