It ain't exactly the Waldorf

Several nights a month the day job keeps me on the road.  It's not my favorite event but I've gotten used to it and have the routine down pretty well.  The town (Santee, SC) has a population of 724 according the census bureau.  There are a handful of golf courses which do me absolutely no good since I don't play.  There's a big ass lake which does me absolutely no good since I don't own a boat.  Among the things notably lacking are a pro baseball team, an opera house, an IMAX theater and an Apple Store.  I'm truly afraid of what I might see if I ventured into the local gentleman's club.

The hotel is a national chain (raking in the reward points) and the five star restaurant downstairs is, well, there isn't one.  There's a Shoney's across the street.  Still, the place is nice enough and recently remodeled, and they usually comp me a suite - which is basically the room next to the stairwell and the space behind the stairwell with the wall between them knocked out - for the regular room rate seeing as I'm somewhere in the Top 3 on their best customer list for the last seven years.  They treat me like family, which is about as good as you can get when you're away from your family.  You look for those little things when you're away.

Unloading my truck tonight I thought I heard something behind me.  I stopped, turned around, and heard it again, for sure this time.  Not 300 yards from I-95 the unmistakable two-tone call familiar to every bobwhite hunter brought a smile to my face.  I just stood and listened for a few minutes.  I'm sure the folks with the Massachusetts plates made a mental note to avoid eye contact should they run into me in the hall.  You know, the guy with the backpack and the laptop standing in the middle of the parking lot staring at the field?  Yeah, maybe he's been away from home too long.

It's home for somebody