As beginning tourist's luck would have it, I've found my landmark: a disheveled sign and quaint courtyard with a thin, muscular Filipino guard fast asleep on a tiki barstool at the entrance, Yankee baseball cap pulled over his eyes. The Manila Dahlia.
No need for unnecessary questions. Think quiet. Ignore the buzzing suitcase. Adrenaline pumping, I slip past Mr. Nappy-time. The front desk room is cramped and spartan, dominated by a Manila Palm festooned with Christmas ornaments, an old teak table, a storage closet filled with wayard luggage, and a five-foot smiling cartoon chicken in an elf hat as it bursts from a dinosaur egg with the word Balut painted on it in red and green letters.
Nodding, the Rime of the Ancient Mariner concierge smiles cheerfully.
Then . . . nothing but the peppy Tagalog Christmas Carol music croaking out of a circa-1990s stereo.
I hide the mirror behind my back. Finders keepers. "Excuse me, mister, uh …" The golden name tag reads: Phil Donahue "Bong Bong" Ramos. Really? "Mister Phil Donahue, uh, do you know the Donger . . . Dong?"
The smile is there, but nothing else.
"Ah, Korean . . . I think. South, not North. Uhhhhh . . . rocks a mohawk."
We both glance down at the vibrating suitcase, which has somehow gone into some sort of overdrive mode. What in Emelda Marcos' Holy Hell Spawn Prada Shoe Collection did I pack in there?
"Ahem . . . listens to the Plasmatics . . . or at least he used to . . . I think. Obviously, the memory fades . . ."
He's transfixed by the luggage whirring on the porcelain tile. What kind of sick fuck round-eye jets off to a secluded two-star hotel on a tropical island and gets his jollies off with some sort of dildo bomb? And on the Thursday morning no less?
" . . . and as we get older we all evolve musically . . . "
I doubt this pervert even knows the difference between 120 and 220 volt wall sockets? What if he plugs in his manblaster and ZZZZZZT! fries himself from the center of his asshole inside out?
" . . . as well as hairstyles and . . . "
My God. The smell.
" . . . uh . . . other . . . "
Kayata. Nope. Not cleaning it.
" . . . stuff."
Put on the 'Do Not Disturb' sign. Save it for the night crew. "Yes."
They got spare time.
"Oh! Good . . . is he here?"
The spell is broken, he gazes back at my less than pearly whites. "Yes."
An uncomfortable pause. "Like, here in the building or here on the island?"
Nothing.
"Here on the planet?"
A forceful nod. "Yes."
A flash of recognition. I smile back. "Or, you have no idea what I'm saying but you're very, very polite by smiling and saying Yes. Yes?"
"Yes."
"Ahhhhhh . . . ah . . . " Pulling out my passport. "Here."
"Oh!" The look of total concentration as he scans my photo, then my face. "Yes."
He thumbs through the scribbling on a reservation book, then hands me a keychain in the shape of a tongue-wagging puppy dog. "Daaaahhhg."
"Dog?"
"Yes." Satisfied, he gestures up the stairwell.
After check-in, I poke past a small room filled with old gym equipment and rusted free weights. Maybe I can start working out while I'm here? Get rid of that baby pot-bellied pig engulping my waist.
The Rockland luggage feels like I'm dry heaving olympic kettlebells up the wooden steps to the second floor. The doors all have Hanzi characters and Chinese zodiac pictures. Sure enough, one has a happy puppy with a wagging tongue, matching the keychain.
It's a small, humid room with no AC and the construction bandsaw noise wails from the open window. The luggage drops to the floor.
Aha! 1–2–3–4. That's it!
Rummage through bright leaflitter of tacky tropical shirts, khaki shorts, and funky underwear. The culprit pops out from the snaretrap of the toiletries case. My electric toothbrush.
CLICK.
Toothbrush and newlyfound old good old lucky mirror charm are gently placed on the 2-person oval teak table by the front door.
I fling myself onto the well-made bed. The full-sized mattress is rock hard, but no matter.
Shut my eyes into pure darkness. What's left of my mind slowly shuts down, rocked to sleep by the tinnitus buzzing in my ears like a baby banshee's sweet aneurysms.