Imagine if you will a hotel. And not a nice, fluffy pillow, comfortable bed, flat screen tv, working toilets kind of hotel but a “met you on the internet, might end up dead” kind of establishment. Some context, I’ve been staying at this particular hotel on and off for about 10 years and know of at least 3 confirmed deaths there, but I digress. Now take this bed bug infested shit hole and place it in the south. Now I’m not talking about sweet tea, pecan pie, and slutty college girls with cute southern drawls south. This is deep south, majority black, wrong turn end up dead, non-southerners need a translator south. It’s a special town filled with special people. But the award for the specialist little sycophant in the town goes to the thousands of police officers, sheriff’s deputies, state alphabet soup agencies, corrections officers and troopers that attend the public safety training facility for various courses of instruction every week. Every enforcement agency in the state (minus the few larger agencies with their own training centers) sends their employees there for either an entry level certification or for continuing education. It’s basically the equivalent of a small dick/wish I was born with a dick convention but everyone has a gun and is state sanctioned to use it. If you've ever been on a firing line when officers are doing their required firearms re-qualification, you know what a frightening prospect this is.
So there I was… sitting in a chair in my hotel room. The chair appears to be a goodwill buy circa 1993 and the matching table could give you a splinter that would kill a glittery vampire. I am attending a week long sexual assault investigations class. It’s Monday evening after the first day of class and I am drinking… heavily (This is a running theme throughout my life as a slave, mass alcohol consumption but fear not, we’ll get into that subject quite a bit in the future). Now at this point in my life I was a heavy drinker, I would even say a functional alcoholic but this time was different. I sat staring at the two double beds in my room whose comforter looked like a Muppet bukkake had been its inspiration. I take another huge pull from the vodka bottle- “I wonder if they fuck in a shitty hotel like this”… unwelcomed thoughts invading my mind, not drinking enough to drown them out. “I bet they do, I bet his friends take turns as well”… goddammit, another long pull. As thoughts of the love of my life being gangbanged slowly die with my liver, a clarity falls over me. You know the type when you have just the right amount of fermented poison circulating in your body that certain revelation come to you out of the blue and you can finally logically work through some issues? Well this wasn't that. This is when I finally realized that my entire life was a lie, when the dam began to break. All the pieces of the puzzle that I had known but ignored were finally starting to fall into place. I was drunk, in a horrible hotel, and in a horrible town. My career, which I had lied to myself for years about, was a sham. I was an agent of pain and destruction. The good intentions that had been the fuel for my crimes against humanity did not inoculate me from the truth anymore. I had thrown my fiancé out of the house the day after we had booked a wedding venue. Only eight days had passed since the discovery of her infidelity. Only a year had passed since my encounter with death that left me physically and emotionally broken. Everything I had worked for in my life was crumbling before my eyes. As these thoughts sprinted through my mind, a little ditty by Elton John played on the radio.
This was just the beginning. Little did I know things were about to get worse. Much worse than I could have ever imagined. I’m glad I didn't know that night in that shitty hotel room what was coming my way, I don’t think I would've seen Tuesday morning.