Daily Splatter: Sucking in Real Time
The Washington Plaza Hotel in DC is one of the biggest piece-of-shit hotels I have ever stayed at in the U.S. Making matters worse, I just moved over here after spending three luxurious days in the Renaissance DC, which was lovely.
Knowing I had to make a move (there are few bigger pains in the ass during a business trip that having to switch hotels in the same city), I called the Washington Plaza (let's call it the Asscrack Plaza) to see if I could check-in early this morning in order to avoid the headache after a long day of work. John, the manager, told me that he had rooms available and to come on over. I arrive not 20 minutes later and John, big dumb motherfucker that he is, says check-in is not until 3:00 PM. I quickly reminded him of our conversation, and BDMF John says he meant that they had rooms available, but not for early check-in. It is immediately clear to me that this is going to go nowhere, so I acquiesce, check my bags and go about the business of the day.
Unfortunately, there is construction going on around the Asscrack Plaza, so taxis will not come to the door. I learn this from the doorman who, after taking my dollar, attempted to hail me a cab for about 10 minutes before returning and explaining the situation. The only reason he is still alive is because I convinced myself that it was his first day on the job. I walk a few blocks and catch a ride.
At the end of a long day I arrive back at Asscrack Plaza Hotel and check in to my room. No one is in the lobby but it still takes the Bell Captain a good 15 minutes to find my bag (I tip the Bell Captains when I check my bag in hopes that they will take of it, so I'm probably partially to blame here). I check in to my freshly painted room next to the extremely loud, clunky elevators and am overwhelmed by the smell of latex (please, God, let it be the paint). I ask to switch rooms and explain that, otherwise, they will be spending the day tomorrow cleaning my vomit off their vomit-colored carpet and vomit-colored bedspread. They agree. Smart choice.
They move me six floors directly up so that my new room is also located right next to the elevator. I figure, fuck it, I'll sleep with a pillow over my head and, if I'm lucky, I'll suffocate.
Inside my room (number 717), the following items are not working:
Television
Telephone
Window locks (I'm on the 7th floor, so no big deal)
One lamp
Dresser drawer (missing handles)
In the interest of fair play, I should also list the items in my room that were in excellent working order:
Wastebasket
Towels
Smoke alarm (This being my hopeful attempt at the power of positive thinking)
At this point, I'm not thrilled but I've seen worse. I figure I'll head down to the fitness center and try to work out the aggravations of the day. Now, I'm no lawyer (not like Nerdy Squirrel who graduates on Saturday and will take me away from all this), but I don't think that pieces of a treadmill strewn across the floor, a single stationary bicycle and a universal machine that I can only assume was picked up off of someone's tree lawn constitutes a "fitness center." It aggravates me to no end that hotels everywhere get away with this crap. Anyway, I digress.
Needless to say, my workout is lame. Back in the room I call the front desk on my cell phone to tell them my room telephone is broken. This may seem reasonable, but trying to explain to a hotel operator that I'm actually in a room in the hotel and my phone doesn't work so I'm calling you on my cell phone is a bit tricky. After several minutes, we get it straightened out and she'll send someone up. I ask her if she can connect me to room service.
I know, I know. Room service? What the hell was I thinking? But really, how bad can you screw up a hamburger? Turns out, I may never know. It's been over an hour and 15 minutes and, so far, no burger for me. I could call them, but no one has fixed my phone yet and I don't want to go through the cell phone explanation again. I could kill time watching television, but...well...you get the picture.
Otherwise, my day sucked. How about you?
Knowing I had to make a move (there are few bigger pains in the ass during a business trip that having to switch hotels in the same city), I called the Washington Plaza (let's call it the Asscrack Plaza) to see if I could check-in early this morning in order to avoid the headache after a long day of work. John, the manager, told me that he had rooms available and to come on over. I arrive not 20 minutes later and John, big dumb motherfucker that he is, says check-in is not until 3:00 PM. I quickly reminded him of our conversation, and BDMF John says he meant that they had rooms available, but not for early check-in. It is immediately clear to me that this is going to go nowhere, so I acquiesce, check my bags and go about the business of the day.
Unfortunately, there is construction going on around the Asscrack Plaza, so taxis will not come to the door. I learn this from the doorman who, after taking my dollar, attempted to hail me a cab for about 10 minutes before returning and explaining the situation. The only reason he is still alive is because I convinced myself that it was his first day on the job. I walk a few blocks and catch a ride.
At the end of a long day I arrive back at Asscrack Plaza Hotel and check in to my room. No one is in the lobby but it still takes the Bell Captain a good 15 minutes to find my bag (I tip the Bell Captains when I check my bag in hopes that they will take of it, so I'm probably partially to blame here). I check in to my freshly painted room next to the extremely loud, clunky elevators and am overwhelmed by the smell of latex (please, God, let it be the paint). I ask to switch rooms and explain that, otherwise, they will be spending the day tomorrow cleaning my vomit off their vomit-colored carpet and vomit-colored bedspread. They agree. Smart choice.
They move me six floors directly up so that my new room is also located right next to the elevator. I figure, fuck it, I'll sleep with a pillow over my head and, if I'm lucky, I'll suffocate.
Inside my room (number 717), the following items are not working:
Television
Telephone
Window locks (I'm on the 7th floor, so no big deal)
One lamp
Dresser drawer (missing handles)
In the interest of fair play, I should also list the items in my room that were in excellent working order:
Wastebasket
Towels
Smoke alarm (This being my hopeful attempt at the power of positive thinking)
At this point, I'm not thrilled but I've seen worse. I figure I'll head down to the fitness center and try to work out the aggravations of the day. Now, I'm no lawyer (not like Nerdy Squirrel who graduates on Saturday and will take me away from all this), but I don't think that pieces of a treadmill strewn across the floor, a single stationary bicycle and a universal machine that I can only assume was picked up off of someone's tree lawn constitutes a "fitness center." It aggravates me to no end that hotels everywhere get away with this crap. Anyway, I digress.
Needless to say, my workout is lame. Back in the room I call the front desk on my cell phone to tell them my room telephone is broken. This may seem reasonable, but trying to explain to a hotel operator that I'm actually in a room in the hotel and my phone doesn't work so I'm calling you on my cell phone is a bit tricky. After several minutes, we get it straightened out and she'll send someone up. I ask her if she can connect me to room service.
I know, I know. Room service? What the hell was I thinking? But really, how bad can you screw up a hamburger? Turns out, I may never know. It's been over an hour and 15 minutes and, so far, no burger for me. I could call them, but no one has fixed my phone yet and I don't want to go through the cell phone explanation again. I could kill time watching television, but...well...you get the picture.
Otherwise, my day sucked. How about you?
Comments
Update: After finishing the original post, I walked down to the front desk and asked them to check on my dinner. A half hour later, someone finally showed up but with the wrong order. I ended up walking to Subway.
Posted by: Crunchy BC | May 17, 2006 09:02 PM
That sucks. If I were you, I'd steal the Bible.
Posted by: anonymouscoworker | May 18, 2006 02:06 PM
AC: I would, but it's probably broken as well and I'd end up in a place worse than hell - eternity at the Washington Plaza Hotel.
Posted by: Crunchy BC | May 18, 2006 02:29 PM
AC: Is your site still up? I have not been able to open it up for about a week now.
Posted by: Crunchy BC | May 18, 2006 02:37 PM