The Fridge of Fate

Last night we played Castleton State College in Vermont. Our host was one of the formerly four eyed who have undergone “Lasik” corrective surgery. If you thought of the funniest song that could have been playing when she entered the doctor’s waiting area, what would it be?

If you guessed “Blinded by the Light,” you’re both right and funny, or you're her.

After the show, we headed back to The Comfort Inn, which after four years of playing Castleton, we know quite well. Still, the adjective “comfort” doesn’t exactly leap to mind when we think of it. Maybe it’s the barb wired military facility across the street, the bitter cold, or the fact that Andrew was throwing up everywhere the last time we were there. I think I’ll just call it “The Inn.”

At The Inn, Zach asked the man behind the desk if there was a refrigerator he could use. And there was… IF you’re a gambling man. You see, any food put into this fridge may or may not be eaten by a member of the hotel staff. There was no way to know. Was it worth it?

No. Especially because our informer added that he had once “put laxatives” into his own pizza to catch the thief. The guilty party apparently “sh*t themself.” Not the most reassuring words from someone with a master key to your room.

Zach did not trust his food to the Fridge of Fate. I did not trust that the guy had actually baked Ex-Lax into a pizza. We were not comfortable.