To Whom It Should Concern:
The attached photo, taken in your restaurant this morning, where I spent $10.99 on a “Little Smokies” breakfast, advertises that I can get a T-Bone Steak breakfast or dinner, including side item and beverage, for under $13. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for your showers which, I found out this morning, have risen to 13 bucks. For 13 bucks, I ought at least to get a baked potato with my shower, don’t you think? And a beverage, preferably something strong to take the edge off having to pay more money for the simple act of bathing than for consuming a T-Bone Steak.
By the way, I noticed that my $13 shower came equipped with an already-chewed sunflower seed hull on the floor by the toilet, next to the used toothpick. You’d think that for that much money, I could get a few un-chewed sunflower seeds and a stack of individually wrapped toothpicks, like the ones by the cash register in the restaurant.
I also noticed that the mold that adorns the room, on the floor, throughout the shower, on the walls and around the mirror, hasn’t been upgraded to reflect the superlative amenities of a premium-priced moldy shower. No, it’s the same mold as before, a boring slimy green in color (though thoughtfully variegated around the toilet, next to the chewed sunflower seed hulls), and I appreciate the variety of course. If we aren’t going to upgrade the quality of the mold, I ought to at least be given a Certificate of Inoculation printed for my next Department of Transportation Physical Exam, to prove that I am now immune to everything from polio to the plague and pestilence courtesy of your rather opulent facilities. After all, as the grime and sludge in your $13 shower demonstrates, sometimes quantity is quality.
But I’ve gotten ahead of myself, which I tend to do when carried aloft on the general exuberance of having been mugged. I forgot to tell you about the adventure of even accessing the shower in the first place. As you know, if you ask the cashier, she needs must direct you to the kiosk where you tap the screen a few times to get to the proper menu and then deposit your money. The only problem was, the kiosk didn’t want my $13. I thought, fleetingly, that the absurdity of the price had registered even with artificial intelligence, and that the machine had shut down on sheer principle. But even the cashier, who was as kind and charming as the day is long, couldn’t jam my money into the machine. So she rang it up at the register, which brings up another point. You need new machines.
For 13 bucks, your little kiosk should speak kindly to me, in an accent of my choosing, take my dollar bills with no fuss, thank me, and then reach out with automated hands and give me a massage followed by a cigarette. Hell, for $13, hot towels should be offered by kindly young ladies who provide the same side items and beverages consumers of your cheaper-priced steaks receive. And for 13 bucks, you should answer a simple question from one who lives on the road: Are you on amphetamines? Are you aware that, while truckers must park at places that accommodate truck parking, we do have a few options left, the exercise of which will likely not help your bottom line?
And speaking of options and bottom lines, if you wander into the men’s room of your truck stops in the morning, as many families do while traveling, you will be greeted by the sight of truck drivers standing at the sinks, in various stages of undress, shaving kits on the counter, conducting personal hygiene. I’ve noticed that this often times unsettles the children and serves further to underwrite the stereotype of truckers as animals. Would you be kind enough to post signs notifying your customers that their wait time in the restroom may be increased as your shower prices have exceeded the cost of dining?
Speaking of dining, your restaurants are starting to smell of body odor. That’s because we on the road, like you in your climate controlled office, operate on a thin profit margin. Faced with the choice of eating and bathing, well,…you can’t survive without food, right? But at least we can brush our teeth. In time, your customers might get used to being assaulted by the aroma of minty-fresh buttocks when they walk into your establishment, but I won’t. And neither will anyone that I can convince to take their business elsewhere, to avoid suffering the indignity of paying premium prices for facilities more suited to a hazmat team than the motoring public.