If Worse Comes To Worse

Remember when I told you how my wife and I went to Yosemite last week?

     You don't?

     That's okay, because I didn't tell you. I just wanted to give you an idea of what it's like talking to my father.

     If I did tell you, I would have told you that I had booked a room at a historical hotel that was over one hundred years old. A hundred years old! It was built just a few years before my father was born, if you can imagine, but I was hoping it was in better shape.

     The hotel is so old that when it was first built, none of the rooms had a bathroom. Since then, to accommodate the newer generation, a generation used to comfort and convenience, they have installed bathrooms in fifty of the rooms.  Not fifty per cent of the rooms, but fifty of the rooms, as in the age I'm never going to see again. You know what that meant, don't you? It meant that if I wanted to rent one of the fifty rooms with indoor plumbing, it was going to cost me more. A lot more.

     Boy, I must really love my wife.

     Now, when you first entered the historical hotel, the bottom floor (which included the lobby, dining room, coffee room, etc...) looked very impressive because it had high ceilings. A hundred years ago, they could afford to waste space. Also impressive was the fact that everything in the hotel seemed to be made of oak and brass. And, like an old book, the hotel had that antique smell to it, which I like.

     I felt like I was back in the 1800's, only without the prostitutes and the poker games.

     However, there was one thing I did not take into account when I reserved our room, I didn't take into account what a room was like over one hundred years ago. There were no frills, no thrills, no television sets, no microwaves, no coffee makers, no hairdryers for your wife, no coke machines, no free breakfasts, etc. It's harder for me to tell you what the room didn't have, than what it did, because the room didn't have ANYTHING.

     It was a 100+ year-old room, and it cost me more per night than the Bellagio didwhen my wife and I stayed there the last time we went to Las Vegas during a business convention.

     So, my advice to you is, if you ever want to stay at a historical hotel, home, boarding house, or whatever, remember... it's historical. Not hysterical... historical. The only perk will be that there will be no perks to distract you when it's time to go to bed, if you get my drift. Speaking of which...

     We had a great time, if you can call my wife catching the flu prior to getting into Yosemite a good time. I had to cancel the last two nights.

     "You can't cancel the last two nights," I was informed.

     "But we have to leave," I explained.

     "That's not the hotel's fault," I was additionally informed.

     "But my wife caught the flu," I went on.

     "The problem, sir," the desk clerk said, explaining his side of the problem to me, "is that we could have rented that room to another couple. Unfortunately, it's too late for us to do it now..."

     "That doesn't seem quite fair to me," I began.

     "...especially now that you tell us your wife has the flu."

     Well, what could I possibly say to that?

     When the desk clerk handed me the bill, I almost fell to the floor in astonishment. It was waaay more than what it was supposed to be.
     "This is ludicrous," I complained to the clerk.
     "What is?" the clerk's enquiring mind wanted to know.
     "The bill," I told him, holding it toward him with one hand and pointing at it with the other.
     He leaned forward and looked.
     "Nope," he said, "that's correct. You see, the price also includes service fees for the use of the hotel sauna, complementary drinks at the bar, and our car valet service."
     "We didn't use the sauna," I told him.
     "But you could have, if you wanted to," he said.
     "And we didn't have drinks at the bar," I told him.
     "But you could have, if you wanted to," he said.
     "And we didn't have our car valeted," I told him.
     "But you could have, if you wanted to," he said.
     "I give up," I told him, and I wrote him a check.
     "Sir," he said, "this check is for only a hundred dollars."
     "I know," I told him, "I'm charging you for sleeping with my wife."
     "I didn't sleep with you wife," he told me.
     "But you could have... if you wanted to," I said.
     Actually, that last part didn't really happen. It's a joke I heard that I thought was pretty funny. Just don't tell my wife. I don't think she'll find it as funny as I did. Anyway...

     Sadly, the two of us ended up spending more time on the road than we did in the hotel room. We drove all the way to Yosemite just to sleep, get up, and then return home.

     I fully expected her to come up with some kind of bedroom distraction when we got there.

     "I hear the kids," my wife might have told me.

     "Our kids are all grown up and out of the house," I might have told her back.

     "Is that your father?" she might have asked.

     "How could that possibly be my father?" I might have asked her back.

     Although my father would have fit in quite comfortably in these hundred-year-old surroundings, he wasn't there. I had the good sense to leave him at home.

     "I have the flu," was what she actually did say.

     Well, what could I possibly say to that?

     "You win, sweetie," I said. Or, rather, I might have said that if I didn't have the long drive back home with her.

     To tell the truth, I was a bit anxious to get back home anyway because somewhere in the back of my mind I was worried about my father, too. The mornings have become the same old routines with him. He gets up, eats breakfast, then moves on to the great room where he sits in front of the television set. He'll then watch the most boring programing on Earth with all the lights on, because, apparently, having all the lights on when you're watching television improves the quality of the picture.

     Within five minutes he looks like I'll soon be collecting my inheritance. His head will be tilted back, his eyes will be slightly open, and so will his mouth. I'll move in closer for a better view of him, because it always looks as if he's not breathing. Even my wife has had to stare at him to make sure he's still with us, but the joke's on us, because my father is just a sound sleeper. He'll sleep that way all day long, only awaking if I change the channel on the TV set.

     And then, after he wakes up, he'll complain to us that he can't sleep at night.

     Go figure.

     Heck, if I slept all day, I'd be up all night too.

     In fact, if I tried to sleep all day, my wife would tell me, "Get up, you lazy bum. We need to go to Costco." But for my father, she tells me, "Let him sleep. He's earned it."

     I figure I must have earned something in this life, too. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be sleep. Or sympathy. From my wife, that is.

     Our fear is that one of these days, he will be on the chair and he won't be asleep, if you get my drift. Four or five days later, when we finally notice that he hasn't eaten, we'll discover that he's gone on to that great throne room in the sky. He'll stand there, look around, and will see three guys.

     "Who are you?" he'll ask the guy in the middle.

     "I'm God," the guy will say.

     "And who are you?" he'll ask the bearded guy on the right side of God.

     "I'm Jesus," the bearded guy will tell him.

     "Well, then, who are you?" he'll ask the other guy standing next to God.

     "I'm Cleanliness," the other guy will say.

     It's rare when my wife and I leave my father by himself for a few days. Either she or I will stay home to look after him, but, when we do leave, we have a small army of people who come over and check on him. Our daughters, our neighbors, even my brother who gets out of most things, will come by for a look. After he doesn't find where my Dad has hidden his money, he'll ask him how he's doing.

     This time, before leaving for Yosemite, I told my Dad, "If worse comes to worse, someone will call us and we'll come right home."

     My Dad just looked at me, and then said, "If worse comes to worse, I'm screwed."
     Well... what could I possibly say to that?

 

 

Raising My Father

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