So, our usual hotel picks were as scarce as a snowstorm in July, and this place was the last option for the August long weekend.
We rolled into a parking lot so packed it could double as a sardine can. A couple of very relaxed homeless guys were hanging out on the curb, probably auditioning for “Life in the Fast Lane.” It was hotter than a pizza oven, and our dogs had to dodge more garbage than an old-school arcade game. We kept an eye out for needles because, hey, it’s the kind of place where surprises are a step away.
Checking in was a breeze, but our key card had all the charm of a haunted house doorknob. The front desk? Let’s just say they didn’t break any speed records in customer service.
The bed was the highlight, like finding a diamond in a dumpster. The comforter was cozy, and the AC was so loud it could double as a jet engine, which was a blessing since the train tracks outside our window were like a live concert of clanging and whistling. The AC turned out to be a noisy knight in shining armor.
The room looked like a vintage motel museum exhibit, with a chair from the ’70s. The bathroom? Trying to fit in there was like a rhinoceros in a phone booth, with the toilet and shower in separate closets. I have no idea how anyone larger than a toothpick would manage.
Despite the quirks, we were grateful for the AC, a decent shower, and a bed that didn’t double as a medieval torture device after our camping and road trip adventures.