I had a real Don’t Even Stay There experience on a recent trip to Atlanta. Before I get into it, let me explain why I went. I wanted to get approved for a Global Entry pass: think Pre-TSA on steroids. In order to be approved, I had to fill out the required forms, pay the required amount, and schedule a required in-person interview at a nearby airport. The closest airport was in Charlotte, but it turned out to be impossible to get an appointment there. Atlanta was my second choice.
I booked a hotel room for the weekend. The hotel name begins with the letter “M” and rhymes with “chariot.” After checking in, I went out to dinner at Ted’s Montana Grill for a bison burger and all the fixin’s. It was a highlight of the weekend, as it turned out.
When I returned, I discovered that water was pouring — not dripping, but pouring — from the bathroom ceiling. In fact, it seemed to be coming down all around the light fixture. So I sprung into action and called the front desk. In short order, a man knocked on the door to inspect the damage. By then, the leak had stopped, but the bathroom floor was a pond. The man threw the thin bathmat into the pond and lectured me on closing the shower curtain when running the water.
I had to explain that I hadn’t yet taken a shower, that the water had come from the ceiling. He blinked at me a few times and told me that I could take a shower now. “No,” I told him, “I’m not stepping one foot into that bathroom.” He blinked a few more times and turned to leave. “It should be OK now. Anything else?”
I figured I had to spell it out for him. “Look, you can either fix the leak or find me another room.” I actually saw the lightbulb go on over his head. He excused himself and returned about five minutes later with another room key for a room down the hall.
I saw this guy in Atlanta, but not in my bathroom, thank you.
The second room wasn’t as nice and didn’t have as nice a view, but at least it had a dry bathroom. When I took a shower the next morning, though, the handle controling the on/off and water temperature fell out of my hand into the tub. I did manage to jury-rig the handle so it worked, but it was a surprise.
I also had trouble with the television set. The picture and sound cut out at random moments, and I just had to wait until it returned. Am I complaining too much? I know these are minor inconveniences, but they add up. Still the worst was yet to come.
When I checked out, complaining to the desk clerk (as well as to you), they at least compensated me for the first night. I got my bags and alerted the valet that I was ready for my car. I had to use the valet — it was the only way to park at the hotel. Anyway, I got my luggage to the curb and noticed a group of people talking to an older gentleman. He must have been the head valet. And then I noticed the SUV parked right in front of hotel entrance was missing its rear side window. It had been busted out. The head valet was explaining the hotel would take care of the damage and that they hadn’t had this kind of trouble in four months! Meanwhile, another SUV pulled up with its rear window smashed out.
As I waited for my car to appear, I felt my tension mounting. I had to drive all the way back to Asheville from Atlanta, a good three-to-four hour drive, back window or no back window. I saw my car in the next moment, but there was no glass where the driver’s and passenger’s windows should be. Then the valet began rolling them up. Whew.
So I suffered no car damage, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because I don’t drive a big-ass SUV. Maybe because I tend not to leave stuff on the seats. I still don’t know why my car was spared. I’m grateful, but I do feel bad for theose who did suffer damages.
And by the way, the interview I went down for lasted about five minutes. They asked a few generic questions, took my fingerprints electronically, and sent me on my way. My Global Entry pass arrived a few weeks later.