Free the Shorts!

       Allison Hawn / Humor
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Free the Shorts!

Free The Shorts!

By Allison Hawn

Copyright © 2015 by Allison Hawn

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form, except for brief quotations in literary reviews, without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Published in the United States of America

Interior Design by Allison Hawn
Cover Design by Allison Hawn
Edited by CarolBeth Hawn

To CarolBeth for helping edit this little ditty and to coffee for helping me write it.


1. Putting All Your Chips on the Table

2. Multitasking Like a Champ

3. Running Motivation

4. Bombs Away?

5. Lurking Danger

6. It’s Hard to Samba in a Kilt

1. Putting All Your Chips on the Table

I am not a person that you can take to a fancy restaurant, your grandmother’s birthday party, an upscale tea party, or anywhere else you might expect a certain level of calm and decorum.
This doesn’t mean that I am personally embarrassing or not well mannered, though my manners school instructor in third grade might disagree there (come on, no one really uses the salad fork). No, it is because I am the human magnet for all things bizarre in the universe and if I am going to attend an event there is a decent chance that a crazed badger, or a crazed person dressed as a badger, or a badger dressed as a crazed person, will find its way into our midst.
After being chased by an ostrich, run over by a drunk woman in an electric wheelchair, and handed a human ear by one of my past clients, most everyone I know is a little reticent to invite me to events unless they wish to experience a herd of escaped chinchillas.
The bizarre will always find me like a velociraptor hunting a legless sheep. No matter where I go, I cannot escape.
One spring my mother, grandmother and I decided to take a little jaunt down to Arizona on a road trip. Arizona is a wondrous place, full of sunshine, cacti and really odd street names, Bloody Basin Road and Bee King Road among them.
As a resident Spokanite, I hadn't really seen sunlight since Tinkerbell was saying, "In color!" before the start of every Disney film. Is that an exaggeration? Maybe, but having just survived another bone-chilling winter, I was ready for some sun.
I was also exceedingly ready for a break from work as head of security for a homeless shelter. Don't get me wrong, I loved my clients, but you can only say, "Stop licking the walls!" and, "Take those panties off of your head!" so many times before it begins to wear on your little grey cells.
We set out to have a quiet and peaceful trip; there would be nothing to disrupt our tranquility. I was finally getting away from it all... or so I thought.
Just because I'm on vacation does not mean that I wish to stop working out, so I was overjoyed to find our hotel in Arizona had a workout area.
I was far less enthused when I opened the door to their mini-gym and was met by a wave of booze fumes and body odor. No one was in there at that exact moment, but there was a super-classy box of chardonnay sitting on top of the weight bench with a myriad of potato chips surrounding it like some kind of shrine to gluttony.
I snagged the box of wine to take up to the front desk, but paused when, from an outside door that had been propped open, a schnockered looking man entered. 
When he saw me holding the box of wine he gave me a shocked look worthy of a daytime soap opera and quickly exited the way he had come.
I took the box of wine to the front desk attendants who said they would take care of it. 
The next morning, in an insane rush of optimism, I decided to try the workout room again. I knew I should have just gone running when I opened the door and was slapped viciously in the face by body odor, the smell of cheap booze with the additional fragrance of urine.
I peered around the corner and found myself looking at the same individual I had previously spotted. Wolfing down chips with one hand and downing foul-smelling rum and cheap wine as his chasers, the man lounged on the weight equipment staring at the TV screen.
"Hey bud!" I said.
He slowly turned as I continued, "Are you supposed to be in here?"
His mouth full of chips and dank-smelling rum, he blearily looked at me, looked down at his chips, and then offered them to me.
I just shook my head and headed for the front desk to inform the attendants that they had failed to get rid of their unregistered guest.
What lessons did I learn from my little Arizona adventure?
1. When you are caught breaking into a hotel's weight room to drink and pee, there is no amount of chips you can use to barter yourself out of that situation.
2. Some smells are strong enough to put you in the hospital with broken bones.
3. There is no taking a vacation from a bizarre life. 

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