|"We have to make our own meals and change our sheets, but they give you a complimentary cigarette lighter."|
Well, it's official. I think I picked the wrong place to stay for summer vacation.
The brochure looked nice, all three glittering pages luring me in with promises that a warm bed and air conditioning were included in the low, low price of my mortgage, but I'm just not sure about everything else.
Like any other vacationer, I'd diligently saved my money in order to tour and see the sights of Kansas, once named, "The Most Un-Exotic Exotic Destination in the Middle of the United States." But how's a person supposed to watch the local Robins peck holes in the wood siding, if she's downstairs making her own continental breakfast?
Not to mention, the coffee maker looks like no one's bothered to clean it in months. Who are these people?
Last night, I called the front desk and requested a wake up call so I'd be up early enough to go back to sleep. Imagine my surprise when, instead of a quick ring of my cell, a short lady I assumed to be the manager walked in and projectile vomited on my side of the bed.
Only by ducking and rolling did I managed to make it out of the way, unscathed.
Complaining to the man at the front desk seemed warranted.
"I'm not totally sure, but I don't think the Holiday Inn makes their guests reenact Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade before 8am. Then again, the last place I stayed before this crazy bungalow was a Sheraton, so maybe I've lost perspective."
"Make me breakfast."
"Make YOU breakfast? Your associate with the blond bob just threw up at me and tucked herself back into a princess themed bed. You, sir, are out of line."
He eyed me for a moment, no doubt considering how these complaints would be viewed on Yelp. "I want cereal and fruit snacks."
It was only after I'd poured him a bowl of cereal meant to look like tiny chocolate chip cookies that I remembered the other complaints I meant to lodge.
- Why was I expected to make all my meals?
- Was it standard procedure to have the guests help the staff brush their teeth?
- A small, fat man who I could only assume was the janitor, had woken up at midnight, demanded a bottle, diaper change, and punched me in the face. Was I required to do these things because I hadn't upgraded to a suite?
- Was the shuttle with the cracked bumper I'd seen sitting in the garage safe?
I decided further complaints were probably useless when, in my search for the assistant manager's name tag, I also realized he wasn't wearing anything but Spider-Man underwear. Entirely unprofessional.
"I need to speak to your concierge."
"Get me dressed."
One thing's for sure, next summer, I'm only coming back if they clean the coffee pot. Then again, they did say I get to do that if I upgrade to the suite, so it might just work itself out.
Until Next Time, Readers!