The Gaslite Motel

A crippled, anxiety-ridden, precocious, apostate youth minister leaves his ministry to become a motel desk clerk in a sometimes tacky / sometimes upscale tourist motel in suburban Orange County. He lumbers around in a full-length walking cast as his fragile leg-bones are resistant to healing. His unkempt red hair is down to his shoulders and his wispy, unsightly beard make him look like outcast hippie. In fact, he is a nerdy Philosophy student at a nearby college. His reactions to the wide range of unsavory characters and upright citizens he’s exposed to on this job reveal him to be alternately socially clueless and sometimes socially adept. Ever at war with his work-ethic-oriented employer from Taiwan, and always having to adjust to the odd resident managers he works with, there is no end to the debates, the conflicts and the moments of rapturous joy. It is a window into a shady, questionable, but fully-lived life, the outcome of which history may or may not opt to judge kindly. In a cry for understanding, the author cites the immortal line from the movie “American Hustle:” “You know, sometimes in life, all you have are fucked up, poisonous choices.” And even so, the author and the reader are left to guess which of those choices are the least destructive. The protagonist tries his best, and the results are mixed.