The first sign that this would not be a four star evening of luxury (or perhaps even a two star evening of low stress squalor) was when, after checking in, we drove over to where our room was, and as we got out of the car, the curtains in two different motel rooms parted as people looked out to see who was arriving. One only looked for a few seconds until our eyes met, but the other one upstairs surveyed our entire debarking procedure, expressionless, like we'd wandered into some lame low budget horror movie - an illusion that the run-down motel sign aided.
Well, it's not like it's the first motel with hookers or drug dealers I've ever stayed at; it's just that I would have preferred not to pay $70 for the privilege (and that's with the $5 AAA discount). Needless to say, when we left to spend a few hours at a local friend's house, all of our valuables went back into the car and came with us.
The comforter on one of our beds sported a fairly obvious spot of something nasty - not a stain, mind you, but an actual deposit of material on top of the fabric. It could have been conditioner, it could have been mustard, it could have been trucker spooge. There was a hair on my pillow when I pulled back the sheets. Back out to the car I went to bring in my sleeping bag and my own pillow.
Regardless of what you're paying to stay the night in some crappy dump, there are a few things that are standard in any motel room, right? There will be towels. There will be an alarm clock. There will be soap and shampoo. Actually, back up a minute. Our room had no shampoo. I personally could have cared less, but my female companion was decidedly nonplussed. No problem, it must have just been an oversight. We'll go back to the desk and let our friend behind the counter (shifty-eyed greaseball in douchebag-printed shirt straight out of Jersey Shore) know that we didn't get any shampoo. Either they'll just give us some, or if they're really dicks, they'll make us buy it... No dice. There is apparently no shampoo on the premises. We were instructed to go next door to the gas station in the morning, which actually involved trudging through foot-deep snow past an abandoned gas station to the one that was open for business in order to purchase their only bottle of shampoo.
This was the only motel where I ever seriously considered taking down one of the drop ceiling tiles, crapping on it, and putting it back up. Next time I'll just sleep in my car. But hey, if I've got a hankering for Oxy and/or a beejer, I'll know where to come. read more