Wine and Pretzels

I am alone in my hotel room, on a business trip, staying at a Holiday Inn in Houston. 

I am eating pretzels left over from the bag I brought on my flight.  They were a snack I bought for the four hour flight from NJ to Houston. Airlines no longer serve meals on domestic flights. 

I am washing them down with the cheapest merlot money can buy.  It’s out of a juice box and poured into a plastic cup.  I suppose it would be worse if I were drinking it directly from the cardboard carton, but I figure that’s just a matter of degrees.

Is this a new low?

I’m not sure.

The wine was $3.99, and the pretzels cost almost the same.  Airports can charge pretty much anything these days.  We buy it because we are forced to be there.

It’s the middle of January and the thermostat in this room reads 77.  The environmental controls for this room either seem to want it to be freezing or uncomfortably warm.  I keep switching it back and forth because it won’t stay at any one temperature.  I figure if I switch it back and forth enough times it will rain in the middle of the room.

I’m not 100% sure why I am writing this stream of consciousness.  It’s not my usual style and pretty meaningless.  I think I just liked the title, “Wine and Pretzels.”