Echoing John 6/22/14:
". . .The cons are numerous: . . ."
And Breann 6/23/2014:
"I thought that if I waited to write this review, I would feel better about... The Faculty Club"
I, for one, don't feel better. Agreeing: my husband.
In spring I stayed at the Faculty Club. The dining, breakfasts and lunches are amazing of the meals I've had. My 4 non-stars are for the place itself.
The first night: accommodations were minimal but outwardly comfortable as was the larger room my husband and I stayed in later. I had talked up how nice it seemed, a cool Berkeley secret.
It could stay a secret, as far as I care.
The sequence: first, check-in. Perhaps when that part of the eastern campus was more woodsy and camp-like, the redwood building would seem fancy yet secluded. Guests shared (and share) dorm-like bathrooms. Still, it's a high price for selective comfort.
Anyway, find the circuitous road off Piedmont and park temporarily in one of few spaces by the back entrance, drag your luggage trekking down the lobby toward the concierge desk. (Have older alums already commented on this route?) The older man clerk multi-tasked giving me an over-copied blurry local map, talked low and fast, and gave the parking pass so I could move from the temporary space. Fine. The second time. . .
I called to confirm our reservation. The same clerk could not find it or wasn't sure and sounded either sleepy or distracted. After dicing the same information a few ways, he found it. Clue one.
With my husband's work schedule, we adapted to spend one night together at the Faculty Club. He'd then leave, I'd stay requiring two cars. We parked one nearby, unauthorized. The young male clerk kept talking to someone nearby plus the first older clerk . His distraction got annoying; we just wanted the key and move our cars. NOTE: the online instructions stress unauthorized parking gets ticketed.
I manage asking for two parking permits. The clerk remarked, "Oh, I thought you were married." My husband and I were taken aback: how rude, as if we were illicit, it was such an unprofessional, unnecessary remark. My husband snapped, "We ARE." I started to explain then just stopped: why did I have to explain needing two cars??
We got the same hardly-discernible local map, no fast talk, till at last, in the room, we relaxed a few minutes before going to eat, stressed, but thinking about ticketed cars. The phone rang: "Someone forgot to print out the check-in papers. Come back to the desk." So odd. We would have to pass him anyway to leave the building.
Back at the desk, he said, "Don't park in any other building than the one on the map." I said that's why we have to hurry to move our cars from the Eye Clinic out back. He shot back, "That's not our lot. You can't park there." By then, my husband was getting hot, "That's why we want to move them as soon as possible!" The guy got snarky: "How was I supposed to know that?" We were again surprised. What a jerk. It was such a hot day, the cars, and now this?
The bar served food, so we asked another employee now with the older clerk Jerry when food would be served. They exchanged looks (it was not yet 4:30). But as we left, Jerry echoed the employee's very audible remark: "Don't they know?" It's a very cavernous and quiet lobby.
That evening we set up the odd TV angle in the console to face the bed. The layout was weird, huge, with a dark walk-in shower, no toilet seat. Again: a scaled-up camp setting on university grounds. The (large) peephole in the door directly faces the bed (!); a clunky table cuts the room in half -- a strange setup.
In the morning, we had a great breakfast. Back in the room, I packed early for the 11am checkout so I could work in the room till the last minute on my laptop. My husband, antsy to start back home, left earlier. Given the car and permits and rudeness, I knew he did not have a relaxing time.
I hoped to continue working in the lobby with internet access after checkout, till a call came into my room at 10:45 asking if "everything was okay". I said yes, and the female clerk said, "Checkout is at 11." That tipped me right over. I said I was on my way down, grabbed my bags, and exited, no longer interested in finishing my work there. Not even 30 seconds to the lobby, I had to be the very next person at the desk where both Jerry and female clerk stood. (Checkout, unfortunately, requires returning a physical key vs electronic checkout). She still asked my room number and name. After I gave them, Jerry snarked, " 'How was I supposed to know that?' " (!!!) Such blatant sarcasm and mockery--what happened to plain courtesy for paying guests?!
The Club may impress others who've been there or will; I won't say, don't stay. But we don't need rude service, and they don't need selected guests to insult. We just won't stay again. read more