Goodbye to the Best Western, and shit

Tonight I checked out of the Best Western and went to stay with friends in San Francisco. The Best Western is not an awful hotel; the mirrors in the bathroom are huge and everything is clean, but there is an enormous and off putting sign by the swimming pool, prohibiting anyone with diarrheoa or who has had diarrheoa in the last 14 days from swimming in the pool. I have never before seen a sign like this, which raises the upsetting question of how many incidents the Best Western had before they felt they had to erect a sign. And does the clientele still threaten to do this, with only the sign preventing them?

I apologise. It feels like there is a scatalogical bent to these posts that I just can’t escape.

Today I was in a class on language analysis, and there’s the classic problem of teaching a computer that “this is the shit” expresses a much more positive sentiment than “this is shit”. Ironically, after all this I was the one who felt like shit, as I was driven down to San Francisco in the back of the bumpiest Toyota Camry I’ve ever known. I was ready after a mile to vomit over my driver, and it was only an iron will and concentration on my part that kept him clean. I disembarked in the middle of a city-sized bit of fog and tried hard to breathe for a few minutes before going to see my friends. And yet I hear as you age, you become less susceptible to motion sickness. And swimming pools, you have to hope.

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