"We can't get lost," I argued. "We're not going anywhere!" The trip dragged painfully on for the next few hours, as I honed my joylessness ("Show me exactly where you want to go.
No. Show me on the map!") and she pretended we were both satisfied with the new plan ("I think we're both a lot more comfortable now.
") Before sunset, we settled on the perfect destination: home, as quickly as possible, using a map to prevent unnecessary delays. If our conflicting ideas of a fun road trip hadn't already poisoned the atmosphere, my method of selecting accommodation would have been the clincher: finding the motel that had the best neon sign, with extra points for space age motifs. It's easy to poke fun at traditional family-run motels.
Most of them print their own promotional postcards offering the typical wide-angle shot of a motel room, the outdoor shot featuring the all-important neon sign and usually just one or two automobiles. Someone with a wry sense of humour and an overweening sense of superiority can collect a bunch of these, bind them together, poke fun at the people who created them and call it a book. That's a pretty rum deal in my estimation.
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