Kevin and the Stolen Orange
Ah, wedded bliss!
It was near the end of our honeymoon in the Southwest. We were sunburnt, sandy, and deliriously happy. It turned out that we loved traveling. We had taken road trips before we were wed, but a few hours in a car just doesn’t compare to thirteen days in the desert. Luckily, we discovered that we love being together 24/7! Maybe it’s because we long-distance dated for much of our relationship. Maybe it’s because we waited until after marriage to move in together. Regardless, what a perfect discovery to make after committing our lives to one another!
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/TK2PeVDmP2RarMoi8
June 9th, 2022- Our Southwest Honeymoon
Our travels took us to Wickenburg, Arizona, where we had booked a night at the Best Western Rancho Grande hotel. The sun was setting as Tyler maneuvered our red Hyundai Accent rental car into a parking spot. Hot air settled over us like a thick winter blanket. Desert dust was gritty in my sandals. It was a sticky evening.
The air conditioning in the hotel lobby cascaded over us as we entered. The man behind the desk looked up. He was middle-aged, mustached, and friendly. The name tag on his blue shirt read “Kevin.” He smiled at us.
“Hi folks. Checking in for the night?” His voice was a little nasally, raspy, with a New York twinge. I liked the way he smiled beneath his greying mustache.
We nodded, and Tyler gave him our information. Kevin tapped away at the computer keyboard. Just as he was opening his mouth, something at the hotel entrance caught his eye. His head swiveled towards it.
“Oh, the guy’s back again.”
We looked too. Outside on the still-warm sidewalks, a bedraggled man was pacing back and forth. He threw his hands up in the air, baggy clothes flying around his bony limbs. Then he shouted, a long string of phrases I couldn’t make out through the glass door. Bewildered, I searched for the recipient of his anger. Nobody was there. Mildly alarmed, I turned back to Kevin, who was watching with a bored expression.
“Uhh, is he okay?” I asked.
Kevin shrugged. “Dunno. He’s been here a few times now. It’s fine as long as he stays out there and doesn’t try to come inside.”
“Well, what do you do if he does come inside?” I had a vision of the man bursting though the swinging glass door, eyes wild. Yikes.
Kevin was unperturbed. “Call the cops. Nothing I can do about it besides that.”
I nodded, not entirely satisfied with that answer. I kept my eyes on the strange man as Tyler finished checking in to the hotel. My attention was only drawn back when Kevin handed over the room key.
“Now when you folks get to your room, you make sure everything is in order, okay? Your satisfaction is very important to me. I’ll call you when you get to your room, okay?” He guestured to the white phone sitting on the desk. “You guys have a phone in your room. I’ll give you about ten or fifteen minutes and then call to make sure you’re satisfied. So when the phone rings, don’t be surprised!”
We were indeed surprised. Was this standard procedure for the Best Western Rancho Grande? We’d never experienced it before. Amused, we thanked him and headed for our room. On the way, the glistening water of the swimming pool drew my attention. The grit beneath my toes was suddenly unbearable. A swim would be just the thing. Excitedly, we lugged our suitcases into the hotel room and dug for our swimsuits. As we were searching, sure enough, the phone rang. We grinned at each other. How about that, he did call! Tyler answered it.
“Hi folks, this is Kevin from the front desk. Just calling to make sure you are satisfied with your accommodations.”
“Yeah, everything looks great!” Tyler responded. “We were curious though- what time does the pool close?”
“Technically 10 PM, but nobody’s watching.” Kevin lowered his voice confidentially. “Sometimes I’ll let guests stay out there later and just close up the gate when they’re done. So you folks go out and enjoy. Don’t worry about it.”
Tyler was thanking Kevin and ending the call when I whispered, “Ask him for more towels. We don’t have enough to swim.”
Tyler made the request, and Kevin said he’d have some at the desk for us. With that, we hung up, satisfied with our experience.
The pool was as wonderful as we expected. It was fully dark by the time we slipped into the inky water. A light breeze moved through the stuffy Arizona air, rustling the branches of some nearby trees. As I floated in the water, I think I even saw some stars overhead. It was just what we needed after a hot day.
We returned to the hotel lobby after our swim. I found my eyes drawn to the sidewalk out front, now thankfully absent of shouting men. Kevin, remembering our request, retreated to the back room and emerged a moment later with a stack of fluffy white towels.
“So where are you folks visiting from?” he asked as he set the towels on the desk.
“Ohio! We’re out here on our honeymoon to see some national parks. Great Basin, Bryce, Arches, all that.”
Kevin nodded thoughtfully, then turned to cough mightily into his fist. Being only two years after the coronavirus outbreak, covid was still on our minds. By now, everyone had been well-programmed to look suspiciously at coughs. Perhaps Kevin sensed this, because he apologized for the raspy outburst. “Sorry about that. Haven’t been able to get rid of this cough since 9/11.”
That was unexpected. “9/11? Were you there in person?” Being only 21, this was a wonder to both of us. We were too young to remember the events, of course, and neither of us had ever met a primary witness.
Kevin coughed again and bobbed his head in the affirmative. “Yep. I was a cop in New York at the time. Made such a big mess of things. Big plume of smoke and dust and all sorts of other things in the air everywhere. Picked up this cough and haven’t been able to shake it since. I left the city shortly after that.”
“How did you end up with this job?” We were intrigued.
Kevin shrugged. “Dunno, just happened. I like it though. I like meeting all of the people and hearing about their lives and what they’re doing. Keeps things interesting.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then switched gears with another cough. “So the national parks, huh? So you’ve been to the Grand Canyon then.”
“No, actually! We’re going there in a few days. Grand Canyon and Saguaro and then on down to a ghost town near the border named Ruby.”
“Huh,” Kevin said. “I’ve been to Grand Canyon. Wasn’t that impressed.”
I thought I had misheard him. “Did you say you… weren’t impressed? How come?”
He shrugged. “Well, it’s just a big hole in the ground. I’d always heard all these people talking about how amazing it is, so I went to go see it for myself. I went and I looked and all I saw was a deep hole and a bunch a rocks. So I was like ‘Oooookay?’” This word was drawn out, paired with a skeptical eyebrow lift. Kevin finished, “And I haven’t been back since.”
I was shook. ‘Oooookay’ was hardly the customer review I had heard of the Grand Canyon. Remarkable, maybe. Incredible, beautiful, awe-inspiring. But a big hole in the ground? I couldn’t argue with his logic, but it was startling in a hilarious way.
Kevin must have felt the need to justify himself. “I mean, it’s cool if you’re into that sort of thing, I guess. But a lot of these places that people talk about aren’t that crazy. Once you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it all. I’ve traveled all over the United States. Sometimes I’ll go to a mountain and hear all these people saying ‘Oh it’s so beautiful!’ But then it’s the same thing. Big pile of rocks.” He lifted his eyebrow again. “Ooookay?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the incredulity of it all. In fact, we continued to laugh about it as we made our way back to our hotel room. We liked Kevin and his refreshing honesty. He had a no-nonsense sort of way about him. I figured it probably came from being a cop in New York. Still he was anything but rude. He was kind, talkative, and cared about our satisfaction with our experience. He became a core element of our honeymoon memories.
As we were leaving the hotel the next morning, I was still reminiscing about Kevin. The swimming pool caught my eye again, this time glittering turquoise under the bright sun. The landscaping along the fence was richly green with curious spots of orange. I drifted over to the pool to get a closer look.
“Tyler, look! Orange trees!” I was fascinated. Ohio is a land of apple and pear trees. I had never once seen a citrus tree anywhere at home. Drawn in by the alluring, vibrant orange, I pushed through the pool gate and walked up to the trees. There the oranges were, gleaming in the sunshine, perfectly round and so colorful. I could nearly taste the bursting sweetness of orange slices. Yum.
I turned to Tyler, positively delighted. “Do you think the hotel would mind if I picked one?”
Tyler was skeptical. I was positively drooling over the idea of eating an orange now. “I mean, if they have them right here by the pool, they probably expect that people will pick them, right?”
Tyler wasn’t convinced, but he furtively glanced around anyways. “If you do pick one, do it fast so nobody notices you.”
Gleefully, I jumped and wrapped my fingers around the perfect fruit. My sandals slapped to the pavement, delivering the vibrant citrus into my hands. I cradled it triumphantly for a moment, then tucked it away in our bag. Just one fruit. Who said we couldn’t eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil anyway?
As soon as our car was far enough from the hotel, I fished it out.
“Orange time!” I announced excitedly. I dug my thumb into the peel. It was a remarkably thick peel, I noticed. I pressed my thumb in further, wiggling it to get purchase under the skin. Juice flung up in every direction, sparkling temptingly in the bright light. The juice crept under my thumbnail and burned a little. Citric acid is the tangy, sour juice in citrus fruits, and limonene is the chemical that makes oranges smell good. I knew that from an organic chemistry class I had suffered through not long ago. I thought about the complicated distillation process I had done to make limonene from orange peels. I much preferred eating them, I decided.
When the thick peel had been neatly removed from the flesh, I regarded my treasure with pride. My fingers were sticky with fragrant juice, still tingling under the nailbeds. In a moment of post-wedding generosity, I thought it would be kind to offer Tyler the first slice.
“Here, honey, try it!” I handed a slice over. “Be careful of the seeds.”
I watched him as he took a bite, waiting for the expression of citrusy ecstasy to cross his face. Instead, his entire face scrunched up in palpable discomfort. “Bleh! This tastes horrible!” he exclaimed.
I’m embarrassed to admit I didn’t quite believe him. It sure smelled good. Was it even possible for an orange to not taste good? “What do you mean?” I asked in disbelief.
“It’s so sour!”
Now curious, I regarded the fruit in my hands. Then, cautiously, I too took a bite.
“Bleh!” I’m pretty sure I spit it out. “It’s all acid! It’s not sweet!”
I felt betrayed by my tempting treasure. I immediately turned to Google (a very Gen-Z response) to determine why my beautiful citrus tasted so horrible. Turns out the trees lining the pool were a decorative orange trees. Their fruits aren’t meant for human consumption unless they’re doused with sugar in marmalade.
Sure wish I had known that sooner!
Sufficient to say, it was an interesting experience in Wickenburg, Arizona. We met Kevin, the 9/11 New York cop whose only response to national parks is a skeptical “Oooookay?” I stole a hotel orange, and then we both paid the price for my foolishness.
I don’t really have a moral for this tale. Take time to talk to your hotel clerks, I suppose. They’re probably very interesting people with amusing outlooks on life.
And whatever you do, don’t eat decorative oranges.
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