Holy Dinah, this place is a mess. From the surly front desk employee who visibly resented telling us the elevator location to the nonexistent bellman (yet three unoccupied bell carts littering the entryway), we knew we were off to a rough start.
The atrium lobby looks like a nightmare comprised of hotel decorating remnants. Not to be outdone, the rooms have a threatening bordello feel, with tassled swag upon tassled swag. I could imagine the prostitutes who breathed their last in those rooms, looking at those swags before they perished.
The carpets? Stained with what looked like blood. The walls? Covered in crayon scribbles AND mysterious body fluids, most likely of the booger variety. The pillows? Thin and desolate, like packets of grief. And when we attempted to phone for extra pillows, we found that the phone did not work and was missing every indication whatesoever of each button's purpose.
So we used our cell phone to call the front desk to request additional pillows. When we told Curtis that our phone was not operational, he verbally shrugged and mumbled something incoherent. And as for the pillows? They were all out. A hotel. A hotel not at full occupancy. Out of pillows.
The next morning, we enjoyed the bathroom, with its odd dichotomy of pretty granite and what appeared to be feces-stained tub surface.
And those swags, the ones covering the windows that looked out on the exterior? Thank God they were black-out swags, for they hid the horrifying vista of a) filthy, filthy windows, and b) rows of abandoned and possibly hobo-occupied trailers.
Not to be outdone by its other failing counterparts, the safety lock on our room was broken.
Needless to say, we didn't sample the breakfast buffet.
The accommodations were not worth the price.... although our subsequent stories are definitely worth $80.
Stay here at your own risk! Or BYOC (corpse) to hide beneath the bed. No one will notice, I promise.
