It is Saturday Night, 8:00 PM, and I am at home watching a VH1 documentary on Snoop Doggy Dog when my phone rings. Hoping it's Snoop, I fumble with my phone, rushing to answer it.
Hello?
It's Liz Couch, and before you can say "misdemeanor" I am invited to sneak into the Hot Tub at the Holiday Inn Express. After a quick briefing at her house and a couple of White Russians, we sneak off into the night with criminal intentions.
We make it to the Pool area and find that it is protected by a gate utilizing state of the art card key technology. A little red light on it is blinking, which clearly means it is expensive and dangerous. Ironically though, the gate the security equipment is installed on is a 4-foot tall wooden gate that is practically rotted to pieces from all the surrounding humidity. Despite my strongest urges to smash the gate into smithereens, we opted for stealth and hopped over the medium sized gate.
The Hot Tub is going well when two guys who are staying at the hotel show up. They claim to be in town for business meetings, and when asked say they involved in the Import/Export business. They also mention that they have just recently purchased a house in Newport Beach. I can't help but notice that their story is remarkably similar to George Castanza's in the episode of Seinfeld where he lies about being Art Vandelay in an idiotic attempt to prolong his welfare checks, but I tactfully choose not to say anything.
Then, a guy who had earlier been described to me as "A stoner with a heart of gold" shows up and starts talking to me with a dreamy look in his eyes about the Universe's laws of Entropy and how they apply to a rubber band.
At this point, little 14 year old voices start floating down from a hotel room above us, accompanied by lights being turned rapidly on and off and curtains being drawn back and forth. At least, I hope they were annoying pre-teens and not gorgeous sex-crazed college girls, because if they were, I screwed up the opportunity of a lifetime.
"Harder!"
"Hey Hotties!"
"Come up to our Room!"
The fact that they are excited both about a group of people calmly soaking in a Hot Tub and being up past 10 pm leads me to believe that they are, indeed, children. Misbehaving Children.
We try to be polite and ignore them, but before I can even get my toes nice and pruny, a security gaurd shows up and asks us to leave, indicating that he'd recieved a noise complaint. As we leave the premises, we see from the window above a Woman glaring down, who is obviously their mother.
WTF lady. You are on vacation in San Luis Obispo for some National Geography Bee or Quilting Pageant with your hellraiser kids, who are up past their bedtimes overdosed on chocolate bars and gumdrops, and you have the nerve to call in a noise complaint on us when they are up past their bedtimes scampering like gremlins and sexually harassing me because I have my shirt off? I wasn't blowing marijuana smoke in through the window screen or pressing my hams against the glass; I was just trying to relax and unwind. Sure I wasn't a "paying guest" or "patron of the hotel" or "legally entitled to be on the premises without trespassing," but at least I was on my best behavior. In the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger, your kids need "Discipline." Hell, after being kicked out of the Hot Tub, I was halfway tempted to go to their room like I was invited to in the first place and get them all drunk off their asses on Jack Daniels, giving you an actual reason make a complaint. Go spank your children and leave me alone when I am trying to discuss the more serious implications of Entropy on electron probability theory with golden-hearted stoner, you sub-average parental witch.