One of the strangest places I’ve ever stayed was a dingy motel that assumed I was going to steal everything. And I mean everything.

Written on most, if not all, objects in the closet room was ‘motel’ as in ‘motel property.’ Hangers, coffee pot, mini refrigerator, paper towels.  Even the chunky T.V. from the ‘80s, hanging from the ceiling in the corner. Only the toilet was missing its branding, which I guess makes it okay to steal.

'Motel' hangers

Where was I and where was the nearest Hilton? Sadly, my friend Calli and I’s spur-of-the-moment trip was too spur because every hotel and motel in a 40 mile radius was b-o-o-k-e-d booked, meaning we were screwed in for an adventure screwed. And desperate. Sometimes desperation makes you do crazy things. (Or sometimes you and your friend are just plain crazy in general.)

And with that craziness –whether from ourselves or desperation – made us find a way to survive, and enjoy, staying at a seemingly off-putting motel that movie characters die in all the time.

I like to consider myself an optimist who loves to complain; oxymoron I know, but if you knew me you’d understand the balance. So, as this optimist (and because I couldn’t call home to complain about the shindigs because there was no cell phone reception – do you hear the horror music playing in the background right now?), I, with the help of Calli, made the most of our 3 day closet stay. Because if you can’t make something good out of something bad less than desirable, then you’re missing out on the small beauties of life pooping in the margarita mix and you won’t be invited out for margarita Monday (TuesdayWednesdayThursdayFridaySaturdaySunday).

Things were respectfully strange before we arrived to our cell room, back in the manager’s office. The owner had an accent so thick I thought we’d driven out of the country and across the ocean to a Germanic country. Being at the tip of the thumb in Michigan, an area with more cows than people, you don’t expect much diversity or immigration, but this guy was pure import, so his thick accent took me by surprise. His words were so heavy with Vs, it was fitting his name was Viktor.

From the office, Viktor led us through the modest motel yard (by yard I mean gravel parking lot) and to our luxurious cramped room. One step through the door and you were practically in bed, but at least the bathroom was its own little crampedness. It was like a shower and toilet, all in one. Sit on the loo, wash your legs in the shower at the same time; cut bathroom time in half.

After Viktor left, we unpacked our bags and obscene amount of shoes the best we could with no dresser, shelves, or space. We hung a few items on the ‘motel’ hangers; watched a few fuzzy shows on the ‘motel’ television; drank some beer and put the rest in the ‘motel’ mini refrigerator; played with the ‘motel’ air conditioner; sat on our ‘motel’ bed. Our friends were going to be jealous of us, on top of being jealous they didn’t get to come for our vacation.

So we decided to give them a photographic journey of our trip and have a photo shoot in the room. Hopefully taking pictures was allowed in the ‘motel’ room, because we went all out.

Our photo shoot covered every square inch of the room, which wasn’t hard to do. At all. And we unearthed some cool surprises at the nicknamed ‘You No Steal From Motel’ Motel!

A friend! Franklin the dead bee, just chillin’ on the window’s ledge. Oddly, them not cleaning the window ledge didn’t have us questioning if they even cleaned the bed sheets. Because even if we had questioned it, we would have slept there.

We didn’t have a choice.

Although, I did have my huge Durango that another friend and I had once camped out in… In her driveway. Even got an extension cord and brought a TV in, but that’s a different story.

On a happier note, Franklin provided us comfort. Knowing that he was there to protect us if any intruders tried to come thru the window at night had us thanking him.

Our next surprise was the ants crawling on the mini refrigerator, trying to steal our beers. We found Viktor to express concern and he came charging into our room like a Ghostbuster – ant spray in hand and taking aim like our room needed a bath of the killer spray. (Who ya gonna call? Vitkor!)

Unfortunately the ants returned a day later, and instead of calling Ghostbusters Viktor, we decided to turn killing the ants into a game. Using our skill of overpacking to aid in the disposal of the ants, we sat on the bed and tossed our shoes, sandals, and heels at them, watching them go down one by one. We even named the ants too, and got frustrated when Sasha the ant wouldn’t take a shoe for an answer.

Eventually, we took our photo shoot to the beach – the real reason we were putting up with the negative one-star motel.

And so, we survived that motel better than we expected, even singing songs about Viktor on the way home. (All you have to do is replace Viktor with every affection name, like Hit Me Viktor One More Time or 867-5309 Vitkor). Sure, we dwelled and complained, but by poking fun at the cheapness and ridiculousness of it, we turned it into something we could laugh about. Finding the good in the bad is all it takes to survive.

Have you ever stayed at a strange motel? Share your experiences - and coping techniques!

Brianna Krueger is the Chief Editor at Wandering Educators

All photos courtesy and copyright Brianna Krueger