The Tav Cam Adventures: Part One - By Norma

Norma, who comments on this site, has an interesting life during the day. She sits during her day job across from one of those seedy kind of hotels you would see in any town along the Central Valley cityscape. In Bakersfield there are a dozen such hotels and motels stretched out along Union Avenue. That's old Freeway 99, where the Bakersfield Buck Owens sign used to hang as a gateway to Buck City...

The Great Central Valley hosts many small towns with many seedy hotels. Could such represent the reality of Central California? A land of high unemployment, where poverty drifts through neighborhoods, roadsides, and where there exists a strange motel culture that most of us only know exists, because we catch glimpses as we pass. What will she see next? - n.l.


Here's Norma's first installment for Paperback Writer on her Tav Cam Adventures... I believe she already posted one story on Bakotopia...


The Tav Cam Adventures: Part One - By Norma


The Tav Cam, hidden away on a street in a Central California town...

Working across the street from a rent-by-the-week roach hotel you tend to see all sorts of crazy antics from the people who pass through. Some of it is scary but some I have to admit is kind of funny. Sometimes what I see go on at the hotel breaks my heart. Especially when it has to do with children. But for the most part, it’s like watching a cheesy Lifetime channel movie minus the happy ending. I call them the Tav Cam Adventures.

Monday, 8:45am: “drunken lady” walks around, sort of stumbling for a while. She slumps down after a lot of walking, on the sidewalk, leaning up against the wall. I don’t think anything of it. I’ve seen her walk. I knew she was drunk. I figured she was just resting up before the next lap.

9:15am: Forgot all about drunk lady until a coworker said, “Hey, come look at this lady. I think she’s dead!” This specific coworker is actually a jokester so it’s hard to believe anything he says. I keep working and ignore him. He calls somebody else to see. They agree, something is wrong. Should I tell them she’s just resting? Nah... I’d actually like to make sure there is nothing other than alcohol wrong with her. So they call the cops.

9:30am: The cops are here. They know the drill. They are there almost daily. They put some gloves on, poke at her a few times, tap her, talk to her, poke her a few more times. One of the cops takes her vitals. The other radio’s in for an ambulance. Turns out she was just passed out drunk. Then she wakes up. YAY. She’s not dead. She's just drunk.

9:45am: She's awake and obviously drunk off her ass; the bets start. Not literal bets. We’re all broke. But we’re curious… Will she go off on them? Bite them? Spit at them? Hit them? You know, the type of drunken fighting you see in movies. I figured she’ll throw at least ONE punch.

Nope, nothing. I must be the only violent drunk in this one horse town. I would have decked the jerk that woke me up from my drunken sleep at least ONCE. Maybe twice. I’m pretty sure of it.

10:00am: Back to work. But still looking out the window once in a while, wondering what's going to happen next.

This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on Wednesday, November 15, 2006. You can leave your response.