There I was on one of my numerous “putting myself first” trips. I was in Phoenix this time because it was late August. Nobody ever takes a trip to Phoenix in late August. This is why I picked Phoenix (I could easily be agoraphobic if I didn’t have a need to get out so much). It would be ideal to go out and not have to deal with anyone. That rarely happens, but going to Phoenix in August is the closest I can get to this ideal situation. So, here I was soaking up the sun on a Monday afternoon at the Phoenix Airport Radisson Hotel. I had the entire pool to myself most of the day. This is good, I thought. I didn’t have to worry about there being any attractive people to share the space with. I had my i-pod cranked and didn’t hear the entrance gate to the pool area close. Sometime between the end of Where the Streets Have No Name and the start of The Riddle a man skulked into the pool area. I happened to notice him over by the north wall of the hotel at the opposite end of the pool on one of my rotations. I was flipping over to my back so that it would be easier to breathe as I was smashing my large gut into the cushion, which constricted my airflow. The whole scene was odd. This newcomer had scoobied his pool chair over against the hotel wall. His back was to the pool and all you could see were his feet dangling off the end. He kept surveying the area around him. Every fifteen seconds or so you could see his head bobble around to see who else was around. I had spent the afternoon in and out of napping at the pool and figured it was time to wrap it up so I could go in and get some more food. Eating is the one highlight in my life.
Back in my hotel room on the fourth floor the windows looked out over the pool. When I went to draw the curtains so I could change out of my swimming suit, I happened to catch a glimpse of something that I was not prepared for. This guy on the chair that was spooning the hotel wall was, well… in the buff. I did a double take. I saw this guy with no clothes on face up on the chair. You could see it all. This was the Radisson, not some nudist colony tucked away in the desert of Arizona. There could be families with five year olds strolling along the poolside or worse yet, a teenage girl looking down from their hotel room to see this man and his manhood all splayed out for public viewing.
It was like a train wreck. I wanted to look away and dial the operator to tattle tale on him, but I didn’t want to miss what might happen when and if someone else came to the pool. I wanted to see how it would play out. I had been staring at the entire scene for upwards of three minutes when I noticed this guy reach into a bag and pull out a small white cloth. Then I saw him slide this string and patch of fabric up his legs and over his bum. The guy had just put on a thong! I think they wear thongs in Sweden or France, but at the Radisson in Phoenix, Arizona? What the heck was going on? It stumped me. I couldn’t get my mind around why he would do this. It was a mystery, just like wondering why the hell didn’t Noah swat those two mosquitoes when he loaded up the Arc. Nudie Pants got up and hopped in the pool. This is where I got a real good look at this chap. He was a handsome man. He could have been an underwear model or something. He swam a few laps and hopped out. He climbed back onto the chair, this time ass up, to sun himself some more. I knocked on the window three times just to see if the guy could hear me. I don’t know why I wanted him to hear me, but I wanted him to be aware that people could see his ass out there. He could hear me. He dropped his magazine and looked up toward my side of the hotel. I quickly ducked behind the curtains in the room. I am sure he could figure out that the noise came from the room that had the draperies that were swinging back and forth from my fast movement.
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