I'm Not High Read Free Page A

But how would anyone know that this was the most important property I had on the trip?
    “He come and take garbage from hallway,” she explained. “I set papers in hallway.”
    “Who is he?” I asked. “What are you saying?”
    “Janitor,” she said. “He remove.”
    “Oh, man!” I yelled. “We gotta find this stuff. Don’t move a muscle, okay? Please, lady, just stay right where you are.”
    I went into my room and called the front desk. They said they’d send a manager right up. Then the maid hurried into our room and said, “I think I can go find them. I’m sorry. I will go look.” She wandered off before the manager arrived. I doubted she’d ever come back. I was thinking with all that had happened, maybe she’d just flee into the Vegas night with some free candy and the handwritten scribbles of my life story.
    If I hadn’t dared the universe to mess with that notebook, I wouldn’t have been so worked up about losing the pages. There was no explanation for what had happened. Why would the maid have removed all the pages I’d written stuff on and left the rest of it intact and on the table? Apparently the hospitality pledge at the hotel went something like: “At Caesars Palace, our maid service is so good, whenever you leave the room, you can be sure we will go through all of your handwritten documents and notebooks, remove any and all soiled pages, and leave what remains of your unused paper supply right where you left it. Promise!”
    After a few minutes, a manager knocked on our door. I told her what happened, and she was naturally dumbfounded. “I’m very sorry,” she said earnestly. “This makes no sense. I don’t know where the maid got the notion that you were checking out. The first people to know that would be us. If you left, we’d let her know. Otherwise, she’s got to believe that you’re still a guest. She knows that. There’s a chart right on her cart that says so. It’s really puzzling.”
    “I just want to get my writing back,” I said. Soon enough the maid came back holding the missing pages. As she handed them over to me, I noticed that they weren’t crinkled. There were no food stains or coffee grounds on them. They were pristine. None of this added up.
    “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m truly grateful.” I flipped through them and discovered that there were a bunch of pages missing. “Where’s the rest?” I asked. Panic returned. “Tell me where you found these! We’ve gotta keep looking.”
    So the maid, the manager, and I went down into the bowels of Caesars Palace, to the garbage chute.
    “I’ll scoop all the garbage by hand,” I said. “I don’t care. I just need to find my papers.” We looked and looked and didn’t find any more pages. I resigned myself to the fact that (a) I had gotten a big chunk of them back and (b) I had also been a dumbass who basically begged for trouble. The maid apologized and somberly returned to her work. Caesars Palace officials apologized again and again, and called our room a few times asking what they could do for me. I was tempted to say, “How about you start with comping that overpriced pedicure for me?” but I didn’t.
    In the end, I’d done a great set, had a nice getaway with Dee, and committed to paper a lot of the stories that make up my life. As I said, I don’t get overly tangled up in religion. In the pages to come, you’ll read about my views on the church, organized religion, and the concept of being born again. All my life I’ve bickered with people who say I should know the Ten Commandments, or take communion, or worship a certain way. I don’t have much patience for any of that. I’m spiritual on my terms and have my own relationship with God. And what went down in Vegas was definitely spiritual.
    After I left Vegas, I often thought about having my writing disappear that weekend, and for a long time I was certain it was because I mouthed off and challenged evil forces. The maid was just a