Post #76367 by kctiki on Mon, Feb 16, 2004 5:56 PM

I like old motels. Especially if they have a certain Polynesian flair. Which is why I almost dropped everything for a trip down San Antonio way. Almost.

Old motels. That’s what had me pawing through a box of grimy motel room keys. The old kind, with the plastic thing attached. Drop in any mailbox. We guarantee postage.

But I didn’t find the keys in San Antonio. Not even Texas. Nowhere near it. They were in Nevada. In an antique store right outside of Carson City. But I’m not from there, I’m from Kansas City. If you read my screen name, you already know that.

Antiques? Who are they kidding? Antiques and Junk. It says so right on the sign. My kind of Junk. A mug from The Tikis, tacky souvenirs from Hawaii, fish floats, loud shirts with tropical flowers. But none of it grabbed me enough to take a crowbar to my billfold.

That box of motel room keys though, that kind of blew my skirt up, if you catch my drift.
Fred, my companion, fidgeted as I methodically read and discarded each key. OK, he passed fidgeting 20 minutes ago. Now he was impatient and closing in on antsy.

This wasn’t his kind of joint. He didn’t bargain for a junk store that day. Just scenery and maybe a few museums. Museums at least have old guns and machinery he can look at while I study fancy dresses with lace and feathers, and vintage laxative boxes. Not that I’m especially intrigued with laxatives. I just can’t figure why those old timers needed so much of it. I thought they all had gardens out back.

Then there it was. Just a tarnished motel key attached to an ordinary black plastic tag with white lettering. But the words stamped on the tag, they weren’t so ordinary. Kon Tiki Motel 350 Aviation Blvd Universal City Tex. T E X period. Back from the days when you could abbreviate a state with three letters and nobody told you it was against the rules. TEX, ARK, FLA, like that.

A buck for a worthless old key and I paid it gladly. We both left smiling. Me with my key to paradise lost, and he in anticipation of collecting the extra browsing time fees I’d racked up.

Was I really the first to sniff out this clue to a long forgotten Tiki shrine? When it comes to Tiki hunting I’m just a bit player. But I don’t recall any of the big boys mentioning this place in Texas.

I checked the road atlas. Universal City is right there between San Antonio and New Braunfels. I searched the TC archives. Postings with the word Universal, no Kon Tiki Motel. Postings with the word Antonio, no Kon Tiki Motel. I stepped back and did a google search. “Universal City” +”Kon Tiki” +Motel. Seven listings. Seven? For a defunct motel? What the hell? There it is with a phone number.

I pick up the phone and my palms are starting to sweat. “If the owner answers and his nickname is Thor, you might be onto something.” Fred says, with gleam in his eye. He knows collecting the extra browsing time fees would be a piece of cake in a place called Kon Tiki down Mexico way.

A lady answers. “Yes” I say, “I’m looking for a motel with a Polynesian theme. Would that describe the Kon Tiki?”

“No honey,” she answers with a charming drawl, “other than the name, there’s nothing you could call exotic about the place.”

“What about the sign? Is the sign…”

“Not even the sign. We’re just a nice, neat, little ordinary place.”

“Did it used to have a Polynesian theme? I mean like a long time ago?”

“No it never did,” she answers wistfully, “I really don’t know where the name came from.”

“OK. Thank you then.”

“Bye now.”

So here I sit, nursing a Suffering Bastard and idly fondling an ordinary motel room key that once held so much promise. OK, so it’s not a real Suffering Bastard. I’m off the sauce. It’s apricot nectar with cranberry juice and key lime soda with a dash of bitters.

My latest concoction in an attempt to blend today’s reality with yesterdays dreams. Tomorrow I’ll drop the key in any mailbox. We guarantee postage.