On our recently completed West Coast trip we stayed in wonderful accommodations, mostly. From the upscale Marriott in San Francisco (walking distance from the ballpark) to the luxurious and historic Biltmore Hotel in downtown Los Angeles, we were able to get beautiful and comfortable rooms by going 'online' and making reservations just a day or two in advance, as we traveled.
And, as a special bonus, we were able to get most of these rooms at about half the price of their advertised rates, simply by using Internet tools, such as priceline.com etc.
Our good fortune ran out one evening, about half way through our trip, as we wandered along the coastal highway a little too long and ended up pulling into San Luis Obispo later than we would have liked. Most of the motels were full, due to the fact that the state fair was in town. We grew more tired with each passing 'no vacancy' sign, until we finally pulled into the lot of a nice small chain motel on the edge of town.
As luck would have it, two young ladies behind the front desk informed us that one room remained unoccupied. Realizing we were in no position to negotiate a deal, we gladly paid the going rate, got our keys and headed down the hall looking forward to a good night's sleep. After inserting the key and opening the door, we were in for quite a surprise (although not as much as the present occupants). Yes, the room was already rented and the German lady must have said something to that effect, as she jumped up from the bed and tried to shut the door. Her husband, or male companion, was equally intrigued by this late night intrusion, as he raised his voice from the shower wondering what the commotion was all about. We quickly apologized, in English, and hurried down the hallway back to the front desk.
There, an embarrassed young lady, who informed us this was her first week on the job, admitted to making a mistake and giving us a room already occupied. However, if we could tolerate a 'smoking' room, they did have one other room we could rent for the night. Our options were limited, so we decided to abandon or usual standards and accept the 'smoking' room.
As Linda prepared for bed in the bathroom, I dropped a quarter on the floor and it rolled underneath the bed. Upon dropping to my knees to retrieve it, I was shocked to see this little, fresh pile of mouse turds underneath my side of the bed. Quickly and quietly I did a thorough check of the mattress and box spring to see if there were any holes. I also checked under the covers, under the cushions of all the furniture, and along the walls and corners of the room. I even checked in the small fridge and microwave.
Convinced we were in a room without rodents, I decided that if we were to get some sleep, without having to continue our search for accommodations in the middle of the night, it would be better if I didn't tell Linda about my discovery under the bed. We both slept 'OK' but once on the road Linda did tell me that she felt the motel was rather 'dirty'.
In complete contrast, our rooms the rest of the trip were clean and beautiful ...including the most modern room we've ever stayed in at the Marriott 'Gaslamp Quarter' in San Diego...right across the street from the ballpark!
Speaking of ballparks, which were the focus of our trip, Angels Stadium in Anaheim was to be our final stop before returning home. Unbelievably, as we were getting ready in our hotel room in LA that morning, the first local news story on TV was about the 'rat infestation problem' at Angels Stadium. It seems that the food vendors were waiting until the morning after the games to clean up and rats were moving in during the night to take advantage of the situation.
This was rather disturbing to Linda, although she still consented to attend the game with me that evening. However I did notice that after wearing sandals to all the other games on the West Coast, this evening she wore heavy socks and tennis shoes. And, although we both said that we probably would go without any ballpark food after seeing the TV report, we couldn't resist a fresh strawberry malt from a unique vendor called Ruby's Diner.
Only after convincing ourselves that rats probably don't like ice cream.
Steve
No comments:
Post a Comment