By Jen Huszcza
Number one. The Jacuzzi at my hotel. Okay, yes it was just a basic round Jacuzzi with water jets. Still, after driving six hours into some hot and humid yuck, it was nice to sit and have water pummel into my back.
Number two. The bartender at Monks can make a decent martini.
Number three. Separate checks at lunch at Prescott Brewing Company. A group of ten of us went to lunch. When we were ready to pay, the waiter said, separate checks okay? We Californians were shocked. He wanted to make ten separate checks. We Californians were used to community property, but we got to see red state individualism play out.
Number four. The girl in a red bikini with a hula hoop on Whiskey Row. Yes, Prescott has drunken street theatre.
Number five. The Squirrel Killer. Parked in front of our hotel was a Harley with Squirrel Killer on the license plate. We knew the letters on the plate meant Squirrel Killer because there was a squirrel tail next to the plate. Then on the front was a sign that said: Squirrels, Nature’s Speed Bump. On Sunday, during breakfast, we noticed a woman get on the bike and ride away.
Number six. The shopping. One playwright got a cute baby dress, another playwright got a cute hat. There was also olive oil to be procured. I was excited that I was able to pick up a paperback copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover for fifty cents at the Salvation Army store.
Number seven. The fans at the PFAA are provided by Heritage Mortuary.
Number eight. Over three hundred people came out to see two performances of plays by women writers. In Prescott, Arizona. Prescott, you little arty jewel you.