Because the last thing we wanted, after a hundred miles of bad road (or a few hours on the back of a mule, or walking a trail, or in a museum), was to spend a night up to our ears in quaint. I didn't want to worry, before dropping into a chair, that I might turn a museum piece into kindling., I didn't want a bathroom down the hall, its plumbing fixtures as faithful to the period as the creaking canopy bed. I didn't want a talkative host and hostess and a slew of chattering guests, their company a civilized alternative to television.
On the contrary, I wanted television. I wanted a large-screen color set with cable reception, and, for preference, a Mets game on it. I wanted air-conditioning and hot water and a bare minimum of human contact., I wanted to be able to skip breakfast and get an early start, or sleep through breakfast and get a late start, without feeling that I was Missing Something Important. (The people who tell you that breakfast is the most important meal of the day are the very same people who try to make you feel guilty for watching television.)
- Lawrence Block, "Cheers for the Much-Maligned Motel," p.39 in Hunting Buffalo with Bent Nails
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