The time Anderson Cooper saved my life.

I've been traveling a lot this year and I will continue to be traveling well into August. So in honor of all of this traveling, I would like to share the story of Hammond, Louisiana.

A few years ago I took a road trip. In retrospect I realize I have a pattern: every time I'm about to embark on a life changing event, I go on extensively long adventures. This trip I took right after college around the US of A. About two weeks into the trip, my traveling buddy and I hung a left and went down through Mississippi towards New Orleans. If I am not mistaken, our original plan was to drive straight from Memphis to New Orleans in one day but we got side tracked in Oxford, Mississippi and ended up stopping a few hours north of New Orleans to get a cheap motel and a six pack of Budweiser (discriminating ladies have discriminating tastes).

The little hub we ended up in was Hammond, Louisiana. Of Hammond I have a few word associations:
Used Car Lots
Meth

In regards to Lousiana and methamphetamine, the United States Department of Justice says this:

Methamphetamine abuse is rising in Louisiana, especially in the north of the state. Substance abuse counselors in some treatment centers in northern Louisiana report methamphetamine is now the drug of choice in their areas. Many police in northern Louisiana report an increase in domestic violence related to methamphetamine abuse. Increasingly, methamphetamine is being manufactured in mobile laboratories, using a simple technique known as the "Nazi method." Methamphetamine is also produced by Mexican criminal organizations and transported into the state. In general, methamphetamine is distributed by independent Caucasian dealers, producers, and OMGs.

I don't know what an OMG drug dealer looks like but I'm pretty sure I don't want to meet one.

This is the first picture that comes up when you Google "Hammond Louisiana":


So we drive our silver Mercury Sable into the heart of downtown Hammond (which consists of a truck stop and various fast food restaurants that were, of course, closed) in search of a cheap motel. Eventually we spotted a glorified shanty town that passed as a motel and pull into the parking lot. I jumped out of the car and ran into the lobby of the shanty motel where I was greeted (or, rather, tolerated) by an older woman. She did not speak to me. Instead she pointed to a sign posted on the bullet proof glass that separated us which read "NO VACKANCIE." At this point I probably laughed- I don't remember- but I do remember getting back into the car and telling Michelle about the lack of vackancies.

As we were pulling away we were approached by a woman who was high on methamphetamine. How, you may ask, do I know this? Because EVERYONE IS. EVERY SINGLE PERSON WE ENCOUNTERED ON THE ENTIRE TRIP WAS HIGH ON METH. Now that may be a slight exaggeration but it's not a total lie.

So this totally tweeked out woman comes up to the window (which is open cause we're in Louisiana in the middle of July and it's freaking hot) and asks if we are looking for a motel. We say that we are and she directs us to HER motel which is right across the street. We take a look at the characters standing outside, drinking and smoking their Pall Mall's. We notice that every room door of the motel is painted a different bright color that after being abused for years and years and years is now starting to chip and fade giving the entire place an atmosphere akin to Hansel and Gretel Gone Wild. We look at the woman who is twitching. We look at each other and say "I think we're ok actually." As we start to drive away the woman comes back up to the window and through her broken Cajun/Southern/drug-addled crazy speak we are able to decipher that there is another motel down the street and it's run by Indians whom she hates. And so we go there.

We drive down a long boulevard which is basically one long used-car lot promenade until we happen upon a small roadside motel. We park the car, walk into the lobby and are greeted by a man who is indeed from India. "We negotiate the price ($40 bucks, 20 each) and hand over our money. But before we do I asked him, "Now, we're traveling through and it's just us girls. We're safe right? We'll be ok?" to which he replied, "Oh yes, yes, very safe, very safe." Assured, I filled out a form with my home address, phone number and license plate number (a surprisingly common thing at less reputable motels) and We our keys and parked the car in front of our first level room.

Now an explanation of the room is in order. There is this part in Steel Magnolias where Shelby is asked what the "colors" are for her wedding. She replies, "My colors are blush and bashful." Her mother chimes in "Her colors are Pink and Pink!" That's exactly what the colors of this room were. From top to bottom, door to bathtub the ENTIRE place was pink. Pink rugs. Pink bedspread. Pink TV stand. Pink dresser, etc. etc...

Now at this point in my life I watched Anderson Cooper religiously. Well, the same is still true. So I guess that should read: "Needless to say I was watching Anderson Cooper." So there we were, lying on a filthy pink bed spread watching Anderson Cooper when we heard:

clip clop clip clop/murmur murmur/ door opening/door closing/clip clop clip clop

Intrigued, we went to the large picture window that overlooked the parking lot and pulled back the heavy pink blinds. Over the next hour or so we continued to watch as people of all shapes and sizes completed the same dance down our walkway and to the door directly next to us: clip clop clip clop/murmur murmur/ door opening/door closing/clip clop clip clop

Because we are smart we deduced that they we were drug dealers. Because we are naive we deduced that it was perfectly acceptable to take a "I won't bother you and you don't bother me attitude" towards them.

As Anderson Cooper entered his second hour, we got up to go outside for a break. As we reached the door, we heard high-pitched murmurs. I took over the peephole while Michelle pulled back the gross pink curtain that covered the window. At first we saw nothing until a young man was violently pushed back from the doorway of the room next to us. He nearly stumbled and as he was composing himself a young woman in VERY high heels jumped out the car that was parked next to mine and ran to him. She screamed at the still-unseen figure that I assume pushed her boyfriend or brother or John or whatever. He screamed back at the mysterious figure and suddenly everything got really quiet. I remember looking at Michelle as she threw herself down on the floor and thinking "that's a weird thing to do." As she hissed at me to "get down", I looked once more through the hole in the door and saw the young man holding a gun pointed about three feet to my left, into the doorway of the room next to ours. I laid down on the floor for a moment and got up just in time to hear the car peeling out of the driveway. I looked back through the peephole and saw two very fat men in their tightie whitie underwear running after the car containing the high-heeled girl and gun-boy waving guns of their own.

In retrospect I realize it's weird that they were dealing drugs in their tightie whities but at the time it didn't dawn on me.

So there we were, sitting in a Pepto-Bismol room in Louisiana with Anderson Cooper on mute, a few string cheese wrappers in the trash can, lookin at each other in silence. A discussion ensued where we weighed the pros and cons of leaving. On the one hand, the room was so cheap it was hard to leave. On the other their were gun-toting, immodest drug dealers sleeping in the room next to us.

Eventually we called a Days Inn a few miles away who would give us a room for $60. We agreed and -in total silence- packed the car. As we pulled out, it dawned on me: the man in the lobby had a piece of paper with my address! And my phone number! And license plate number! What if he was in cahoots with the undie drug dealers? What if he gave them my information and they follow us? Not to mention our 40 bucks! So in the middle of escaping from the Scariest Place on Earth, we pulled over and I walked into the lobby.

"Hey, um, I forgot to put something on that paper with my address. Can I have it real quick?"
"Sure," the man said.
He rifled through his things and handed me the paper. As I clasped it, he looked out into the carport and saw Michelle waiting in the car. He pulled the paper tightly in his hand. "Give it to me." I said. "No" he replied. I looked at him "Give me the paper. We're checking out." I handed him the room key. He took the key and released the now crumpled sheet.

Then something happened. I grew a pair! It wasn't fair that this was happening. It wasn't fair that he was going to get 40 bucks from us for watching an hour worth of Anderson Cooper in his weird pink motel. It wasn't fair that I asked him if we were going to be safe and he put us in a room next to drug dealers. It wasn't fair that he scared me and my best friend and put us in the position of seeing guns waved around in front of our door. So I said, "And I need a full refund." He laughed. "You put us next to drug dealers. You said we were ok and you lied to me. Give me my money." He shook his head. At this point I took out my phone and said, "Ok, then I'm going to call the cops and tell them what just happened." He looked at me, sighed like this happens all the time and turned back to his safe. He took out two twenties and threw them on the counter. As I was leaving I turned around and said "And you're a very bad man." And then we spent the night at the Days Inn.