THE SMOKE & DISINFECTANT (& FELONY) INN, MACH 2
Before my self-ouster from my home for the last 1 1/7th WSOPs, I had composed an ode to its rustic charms. Now that I won’t be sharing its prostitute-strewn quarters, it’s especially appropriate that I take one last look back. Now that I have moved on, I am seeing the place in a new, harsher, light.
The place promised “weekly maid service” but I think what they meant was “WEAKLY maid service.” They would “schedule” me for a particular day then ignore the schedule. Only after complaining at least twice would they bringing in the HazMat crew. The maid service was actually pretty good – a contract service no doubt – but the motel was fattening its margins by hiring them only on an as-complained basis. The hotel staff also employed a variety of accents and would feign an inability to understand English on a selective basis.
I had earlier determined that the ancient Stairmaster in the hotel’s “fitness center” was a death-trap so I got my exercise walking the parking lot. It was on one of these walks that I wondered whether the SD/FI offered a Monster Truck Discount. I counted 4 “Big Horn” edition Dodge trucks, one “Harley Davidson” edition truck, and 3 vehicles with double rear tires. Most of these vehicles looked like they had a hard life, except one. It was giant, red, and gleaming like brand new. The only sign that it wasn’t still in showroom condition was the opened carton of Winstons on the dash – unless they came with the truck.
I had earlier secured a promise from Clonie Gowen that I could use her pool during the Series. I had memories of the pool at the Inn from last year and they weren’t pleasant. On my morning walk, I saw a guy reading from a stack of newspapers next to the pool. The pool area is small and severely fenced off, so there was little space between the fence and the pool’s edge; the guy was practically leaning over the water. A breeze blew the newspaper out of his hand and into the water. Without missing a beat, he picked up another section and continued reading, the waterlogged paper sinking into the swimming pool.
I learned that the Pokerpages.com crew had some experience with the SD/FI. Justin, an editor, stayed there last year and swore off the place. Why? “I don’t like living with roaches. I don’t like the fire alarm going off over and over. I don’t like living under prostitutes. I don’t like living next to the guy who got kicked out of the Merchant Marines.”
Jennifer told me that Pokerpages.com was tentatively scheduled for a mass return to the Hookerville Arms but were rescued by the Feduniaks. Bob and Maureen Feduniak, serious poker players and very classy people, started some financial relationship with Pokerpages.com (I wasn’t told the details and didn’t ask). According to Jennifer, “Maureen Feduniak took a look around and said, ‘No, you won’t be staying here.’”
Maureen Feduniak knows things. She picked up in an instant what it took me over a year, a busted car window, and a lost navigation system to figure out. That’s one of the reasons why Maureen Feduniak is such a successful poker player.
