Bongoman

My best friend Cleo turned sixteen this past February. To celebrate such a milestone in her life, her family took her to Cape Cod. I was lucky enough to be a part of the festivities. The Cape is my favorite place and Cleo's too! But this trip turned out to be, not your typical weekend getaway.

The hotel we stayed at in Yarmouth was far from 5-star, it was actually a dump. This was the only available hotel in the area so we had no choice but to stay there. As we got out of the car, the side paneling fell off the hotel and dirty snow fell on us from the roof. This was a sign of what was to come, and none of it was good. Upon entering the poorly lit lobby, and approaching the front desk, the surly male desk clerk beckoned us to come forward with an unfriendly glare. The cramped check-in area, was more than uncomfortable. It was hard to concentrate on the rude receptionist, when pealing wall paper and a dripping ceiling caught my eye, as well as aggravated my ears. My nostrils flared as the thick air entered them, bringing a touch of cheap perfume, and suffocating cigar smoke into my lungs. Venturing to the far side of the hotel to our room was truly a safari of wild encounters. The hotel was occupied with people who lived there year round. The inhabitants of the Yarmouth Motor Lodge were certainly unique characters. They all seemed to have drinking problems, and substance abuse issues. They also carried on boisterous, intriguing conversations with themselves. All of us decided to make the best of a horrendous situation and do the fun things we all had planned.

It was now dinner time and we needed to get ready to go bowling. To get done expeditiously, Cleo invaded her Parent's bathroom, and I used the other bathroom in our room. Being sixteen and scatterbrained, we couldn't find our room key. The plan then was to have Cleo knock on the door, when she was done getting ready and I would let her in.

A hesitant knock finally came. I didn't use the peephole since it was covered. I felt confident to open the door, because who else could it have been? When I opened the door, Cleos's cute face was not gazing back at me. A creepy, beret wearing bongo player greeted me with a "Yo, Mama," in a mellow tone. He kindly invited me to a private bongo concert in his room.

The light reflected off the metal piercings that covered his face, and the bristly hairs in his gross goatee stood up on end, as did the hairs on the back of my neck. I tried to disguise the panic in my voice as I politely rejected his invitation.

"Well that's very tempting, but I unfortunately have plans," I responded casually, as I shut the door with tremendous force, and hustled for a chair to use as a barricade against it.

Now I frantically dialed Cleo on her cell to tell her what had just happened. Her parents weren't very happy with me. This was evident as the veins in her Dad's