Reflecting on my life, I suppose I’ve had a few brushes with death. Obviously, nothing like strolling the streets of Fallujah, but, there were times, where, had a few factors gone a few inches in either direction—you wouldn’t be reading this.

I have, however, never came as close to death as I did on September 15th, 2007; when two friends and I stayed at the Thunderbird Motel in Aurora, Washington. The boarded up crackhouse, pictured above? That’s the artist formerly known as the Thunderbird Motel/Fremont Inn. And it didn’t look much worse the night when we discovered her.

………

My friends, we’ll call them “Mahoney” and “Greg”, went to Seattle that weekend to catch The Ohio State University take on the University of Washington in a game of football. Greg played football for the University of Montana, and the gods had blessed him with an off-week. Mahoney, a Seattle resident and Washington fan, and I had our own rooting interests.

It was something we had planned for weeks but it almost didn’t happen. Mahoney and Greg got into some ludicrous argument at the gas station on the edge of Missoula. The argument was so asinine, I’m not even sure what it was over anymore; a bottle of Gatorade may have been involved, I’m not sure. What I am sure about, is they almost threw fists during it in the middle of a Kum&Go parking lot. It culminated with Greg saying, “Fuck it dude, fuck it,” grabbing his backpack, walking over by the dumpster, sitting down, getting his cell phone out and saying, “I’ll just have a bitch come pick me up—fuck it.”

For a second, Mahoney and I almost left Greg the puddle of his own tears, but then we realized we were pretty broke and we needed him to pay for his share of gas. After a few minutes of swallowed pride and the word “bro” being tossed around, a handshake appeared and we were on our merry way.

…………..

Mahoney was from Seattle, Washington, and his parents lived in a nice house about twenty minutes outside of town. Greg and I, though, wanted to experience the vibrant nightlife of Seattle on our own.

After your run of the mill trip to a seedy strip club, we realized that it was 1:00 AM, Mahoney’s house was about 45 minutes away,

Mahoney and I didn’t care for strip clubs, but for some reason, Greg was all about them. We went to the “Deja Vu”. Greg told the strippers his name was “Champ” … for some reason, he told them my name was “Skylar”. After Mahoney and I sat there for forty minutes with our arms crossed, we decided to leave.“““““““““““““““

AS CLASSY AS YOU’D EXPECT

We ended up driving around Aurora, Seattle, which, if you listened to Mahoney, was a place where we could get carjacked at any moment. Getting tired, we decided to just say “Fuck it” and stay at the cheapest motel we could find.

We ended up at a quaint little place called “The Thunderbird Inn.” I’ll let some of the Yahoo! reviewers shed some light on it:

the MOST HORRIBLE EXPERIENCE in a hotel/motel i have ever had. and i am not too picky.COckroaches,musty smell of mold/mildew that upon entering literally made me almost puke(gag reflex),EXTREMELY dirty carpet/walls.PIMPS PROSTITUTES,CRACKHEADS,lampshade missing from lamp that when plugged in it was obvious there was a serious electrical problem (wires chewed by mice/rats maybe?)

I have never stayed at this motel but I live a couple of blocks from it. This motel caters to prostitutes and drug dealers. Because of the ‘clientele’ of this property, my neighborhood has become a dangerous one. Please, do not patronize this motel and perpetuate the crime in my neighborhood.

I stayed here and was very unhappy. After reading a very nice review on Yahoo, I booked a room for 55$. During my stay, I was surprised to get constant knocks on my door at night by random shady strangers. Also, there seemed to be a hooker next door as there was a lot of activity next door. I did not feel safe!!

When we parked, Mahoney almost bitched out. He was convinced his Cherokee was going to end up on cinder blocks.

“This is Seattle, man. Y’aw drink lattes and shit. Quit acting like we’re in Compton.” I believe was how Greg quelled Mahoney’s worries.

When we walked in, the clerk of the motel was behind bullet-proof glass. This was my first red flag. When we asked her how much for a night she said “$75 for two beds.” We thought this meant per person, but no, it was $75 total.

We were cheap and in college. These are the situations a lack of cash flow will put you in.

“Fuck it,” Mahoney said, as he reached for his wallet, “We’ll take it. I just hope half my valuable car parts aren’t chopped down and on their way to China when I wake up tomorrow.”

When we walked in, Mahoney was the first one to realize that we didn’t have toilet paper. In a tantrum, he went back down to the office. They were out, the lady said, but they’d send some to our room when their manager got back with some. It never came.

There was a giant hole in the wall, our television appeared to be from 1950, and our room smelled like a funeral parlor.

Mahoney kept peaking out the window to make sure we weren’t getting robbed blind. The prospect of having to call his parents from a shady ass motel spot in one of the most crime ridden areas of Seattle because his car was got stolen… well, let’s just say it wasn’t a good vibe with his natural worrying personality.

Even Greg, who was a bad ass, began to have reservations when the time came to sleep.

“Yo, are we for real about to get shanked, Mahoney?” I remember him asking. He had went to take a shower, only the shower-head didn’t put out a stream. It dribbled. There was also no soap to be found. This probably had to do with the fact that most people only rented this room for a couple of hours.

I don’t even want to speculate on what a forensics technician could have found on those sheets. Did I sleep there? You’re god damn right I did. I was tired, broke, on a budget, and we had to be up at 7 AM to go to the game.

When we realized the lock to the door was janky, we came to the conclusion we were definitely about to die. After we proposed taking shifts (then realizing everybody valued their sleep more than the possibility we may end up raped/murdered)… we simply put a chair underneath the doorknob. We then talked ourselves into believing that this would stop any possible intruder and went to bed praying Mahoney’s jeep was still there in the morning.

Thankfully, it was. When we woke up, we asked the lady (who was still there) where the nearest restaurant was. She pointed down the road. “That way.” When we went outside, this is what we saw:

Any place that has two signs is a legitimate establishment.

We eventually decided, “We need to get the fuck out of Aurora and get back to civilization.” And that’s what we did.

We didn’t realize just how bad the area was; Aura, apparently, used to be “the nice part of town,” but it turned out to be just as bad as Mahoney had claimed when we pulled into the place. Since we left, Seattle has basically evicted every seedy ass motel in that area. Some Catholic group wants to take the Thunderbird Motel/Freemont Inn and turn it into project housing.

After the game (Washington got dismantled, obvii), we didn’t even want to risk our lives by going back to the Thunderbird Motel. We simply cut our losses with the city and took the six hour drive back to Missoula.

I’m not sure what $25 could’ve gotten me in the world that night, but I basically paid $25 to spend the night in the criminal underbelly of Seattle. Thankfully, I didn’t end up with a knife in my intestines, nor did the bed give me a case of scabies, as I had initially feared when I laid down in it.

All in all, it was an even trade I suppose.