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Mrs. Monk's Would-be Diary should have been written by Mrs. Monk, since she is the "Writer" in the family.
However, since she is a writer only in the conceptual sense, I have undertaken to fill these pages on her behalf
If not by her, these pages will certainly be about her, and other important matters of the day         Leslie Monk

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Keystone Kops  10 March 2011

    by Mrs Monk

We return to Florida like old pelicans re-entering their bird sanctuary compound because it's "familiar" We know the road to Pass a Grille Beach, we've been there before, we know what ineptitude's and insanity's to expect, there is that free tennis court and a great little old-fashioned grocery store that stocks Bass Beer and real seafood locally sourced ....and there is that pool for me to swim and shade and where Mr. Monk may hide in the shadows.  Poor Mr Monk is allergic to sunshine; he was a sickly youth and he breaks out in hives if he smells hot air and sees a tan.

So it was to be again... The Keystone Motel in Pass a Grille is run by as others describe them in Tripadvisor "the three stooges" but I shall refer to them as the Keystone Kops. 

Mary Jo is the old matron in her 89th year, her son-in-law is the grump going around muttering how hard he works which of course is a deterrent against complaining patrons, and then there is fresh-cheeked, blue eyed-beautiful, Danielle, the Great Leveller, the one in the middle, the beloved granddaughter of Mary who oversees whatever transgressions her grandmother has been up to like: overbooking hotel rooms and making guests leave or at least move or wait for 6 hours until they can check in. 

Mr Monk and I got the closet room, a room nearest to the laundry...lucky perhaps, think again. The shower was the size of a coffin, Mrs. Monk had to pull herself off the toilet by the sink when she did she remembered One Flew Over the Cuckoo's nest and the last scene where the Injun Escapes, by throwing the sink out of the window. 

At the Keystone, there is a lack of towels, hairdryers and land phones that work.  What we did have was an abundance of roaches which I saw crawling under our bed one night. I tried to kill it with Mr Monk’s tennis racket to no avail, but I got it the next night with his tennis shoe, a great killing weapon.

When I went to the front desk to complain, which is open only when there are vacant rooms to let, or when they are checking out payments to be paid, Grannie told me the palm trees had recently been sprayed and the cockroach in question was not a real roach, but was a "palmetto" and would do no harm to her guests.

A "palmetto" is in fact a “cockoach” according to this article in Wikepedia.

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palmetto

not a real cockroach, but  a "palmetto"

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Monkfry's 2011 Keystone photoset Monkfry's 2011 Keystone photoset

 

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