La Quinta
The Coalition of Citizens Who Talk Too Loudly Outside of Motel Rooms gathered at the La Quinta in Williamsburg, Virginia this weekend to remind the public that the world is a noisy place and that if they wanted quiet they should have stayed at home.
“We’re not trying to cause any trouble,” said Coalition president, Robert Johnston. “It’s just that God gave us a mouth to speak with and by gum we’re gonna use it – whenever and wherever we need to.” The whenever and wherever of our interview began on the second floor hallway of this aging budget motel, outside of room 216, early on Sunday morning as Robert and his wife, Lydia, prepared to check out.
“Sorry about the early hour,” Robert apologized, “but if we don’t get a move on we’ll hit church traffic in Richmond.” Abruptly, he turned his attention to Lydia, who was still packing up inside the room. In a cavernous, baritone voice, he bellowed, “Honey, don’t forget my toothbrush and electric razor.” I’ve got them, Lydia yelled back with a shrill. An occupant in room 214 cracked his door open the width of the chain lock and admonished us to keep it down.
“You see? This is exactly the problem,” Robert said, shaking his head in disbelief. “What am I supposed to do? Leave my electric razor behind? I speak because I have something important to say. I can’t help the fact that I have a deep voice, or that it’s 5 a.m.” Lydia Johnston emerged from room 216, confirmed to her husband that she had everything, and, yes, she had checked under the bed. Lydia wheeled the last bag out from the motel room and let the door slam shut behind her.
As we walked along the corridor together, Robert Johnston spoke passionately about the Coalition, its mission and the accomplishments this weekend at the Williamsburg La Quinta. His voice carried down the hall and across the courtyard, setting a small flock of sparrows airborne in a panic. It was a little too loud, even for Lydia. She motioned for Robert to turn up the volume in his hearing aid. He seemed agitated by this interruption. “I told you, the batteries have been dead since Friday.” All around us, people peered out from behind heavy curtains to see what was going on.
In the motel lounge, a continental breakfast had just been laid out. The Johnstons grabbed a cup of coffee and a Danish. Robert continued to talk as he prepared his coffee. “The Coalition of Citizens Who Talk Too Loudly Outside of Motel Rooms has chapters across the nation,” he said. “We meet regularly, at a rotating list of hotels and motels, mostly on weekends, to educate people about the basic human need to communicate.
“There will always be those who talk loudly outside of motel rooms. Face it, if you stay in a motel, you’re gonna hear stuff through the walls. People should accept that; hell, they should expect it. If they did, they might find they could relax more, maybe even sleep better.” Robert Johnston’s mood suddenly turned sour. “Damn it, Lydia, they don’t have any skim milk. Half ‘n half. All they put out any more is half ‘n half. Don’t they know that some people can’t tolerate all those milk fats?”
Robert Johnston went on to explain how the Coalition gatherings worked. He called them “maneuvers.” “Every week we put out a call for volunteers. We tell them what city we’ll be in, what motel.” He handed me one of the Coalition’s brochures. “It’s all explained in there. We try to cover as many of the basics as we can.”
This weekend, for instance, Robert Johnston had excellent representation for the maneuver of “young men who pull furniture from their motel rooms out onto the balcony, drink beer and carry on until 2 a.m.” He had numerous volunteers for the “late arriving, exhausted family with the short-fused dad who is yelling about everything” maneuver. There were several groups of “excitable teenaged girls endlessly wandering the halls and speaking in hushed voices that are not as hushed as they think.” This was Lydia’s favorite maneuver. She imitated the fast-pace chatter of the young women: “Ohmygoddidyouseethelookhegaveyouheislikesoooointoyou!”
“We had a good showing of extended families that split up into two, non-adjacent rooms,” Robert Johnston beamed. “The kind with a screaming three-year-old racing back and forth and slamming the doors of both rooms,” Lydia added.
Sometimes the strictly scripted maneuvers veer off with unexpected outcomes. The young men out on the balcony exceeded the Coalition’s expectations when some sexy coeds arrived at the pool for an after hours swim. “A conversation took place between the third floor balcony and the pool around 1 a.m.,” Robert Johnston chuckled. “As you might imagine there was a lot of hooting!”
All in all, it was a good weekend for loud talkers, the Johnstons agreed. There was just one disappointment, Robert said. For the first time since our interview began, he spoke softly. “The tour bus of school children on their sixth grade field trip to Williamsburg broke down and didn’t make it.” He paused as if to maintain his composure. “Sixty-five twelve-year-olds; the poor things had to turn around and go home. Can you imagine the commotion they would have caused around here?”
Robert Johnston ran his hands through his hair and sighed heavily.
“Next time,” said Lydia Johnston, comforting her husband. “Next time.”
7:43:12 PM  Stories
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