Short fiction: “The Old Saloon Hotel”

Summary

The text describes a visit to the Old Saloon Hotel, a place steeped in history, where the narrator experiences a blend of past and present.

Abstract

The narrative unfolds with the narrator settling into the Old Saloon Hotel after a day that included dealing with the frustrations of pregnant teenagers. The hotel presents a mix of the old-world charm with its creaky wooden stairs and modern amenities. The narrator's suite offers a moment of reprieve, prompting a humorous shopping list that includes real soap. The scene then shifts to the barroom below, a place frozen in time, where affluent men from the lumber industry's heyday still gather, discussing a future powered by steam. Despite the passage of time and the absence of the old train tracks, these men embody the spirit of perseverance. The narrator's interaction with the ladies on the porch hints at a strict adherence to etiquette. The day ends with a reminder of the present as helicopters search for a missing girl, underscoring the juxtaposition of timelessness and change.

Opinions

The narrator appreciates the hotel's authenticity, as indicated by their preference for real soap over the "perfumed toy bars of soap" commonly found in modern establishments.
There is a sense of nostalgia and respect for the barroom patrons who, despite being relics of a bygone era, are admired for their resilience and contributions to the lumber industry.
The narrator seems amused by the formality and minimal interaction with the white-gloved ladies, suggesting a contrast between their own casual demeanor and the strict social norms of the past.
The mention of the search for "Buried Girl" introduces a somber note, possibly reflecting the narrator's view on the cyclical nature of certain societal issues.

Short fiction: “The Old Saloon Hotel”

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It felt good to check in and decompress after what had been a full but pleasant day so far, the wrath of newly-pregnant teen(?) mothers notwithstanding. I spent a short while puttering around my suite — unpacking just those things that needed to be unpacked, checking out the bathroom to see if there were real bars of soap rather than the usual perfumed toy bars of soap that barely lather, and making a last-minute shopping list.

Said shopping list included: junk food, a six-pack of beer, and a real bar of soap that lathers like a cackling madman in heat.

Afterwards, I descended the creeky old wooden stairs to the smoke-filled barroom below, where men in top hats were puffing on cigars and toasting the marvels of an inevitable steam-powered future. These exact same men were here back in 1993, and reportedly for untold decades before that.

With the tracks having been gone for generations, it’s safe to say that the next train to Prussian Occupation has been canceled until further notice. But these self-made men were the barons of the lumber industry in their day, and so they know a thing or two about perseverance.

I pushed through the swinging saloon doors, took in a full lung of late afternoon air, and said hello to the white-gloved ladies in their ankle-length dresses sitting on the saloon’s front porch. My greeting was met by a cordial (but minimal) response that seemed to really be saying, “And good afternoon to you, but that will be all.” Clearly, I was a bull in the etiquette china shop.

Just before hopping in the Mitsubishi, I paused for a moment and craned my neck skyward, my ears catching the distant whir of helicopters. I knew instinctively that they were on their way to commence their nightly search for Buried Girl.

Some things never change.