I am usually quite a good judge of things; Stuff in general and usually people as well. That good judgement keeps me out of trouble mostly and sort of ensures things move forward as best they can. I get it wrong sometimes of course - No one is perfect after all, but generally it all works out - Mostly.
I'm away from home aright now, a five-hour drive away in a small country town, and due to the length of stay I had to arrange accommodation. I'm here for a shooting event and because Faith is not with me I decided not to spend too much on accommodation.
Mistake one.
All of the accommodation in this town is motel-style with no high-rise hotels in sight. None of it could be classed as super-nice however there are good and not so good ones in town. Due to the lateness of my booking I had to accept a not so good one I'm afraid, but figured it was only for a few days and just to crash at night. The lack of options wasn't helped along by the fact that there's a car thing here, a big drift-racing festival or some such, and so rooms are at a bit of a premium.
Anyway, when I booked on booking.com the room, and motel in general, seemed legit - Cheap yes, but reasonably well-located, they boasted a quiet location and from what I could tell the photos looked satisfactory. I was between a rock and a hard place on it though and so I booked.
Mistake two.
On arrival I was greeted sourly by a new-Australian, an Indian chap I think, who handed over the keys whilst also apologising for the room saying, I've given you the best we have left, with a shrug and look that seemed more commiseration than apologetic. Hmm...Didn't leave me confident.
I parked my truck in front of the room, backed up to the door, and went inside with a little trepidation unsure of what I might find.
OK, decor hasn't been changed for thirty five years, smells sort of used, bathroom is very small...But it seemed serviceable for a generally un-fussy bloke like me. I'd stayed in worse, was my thought after the first cursory investigation - I'd only be sleeping here anyway so it'll do. I checked that the fridge worked - It's about the size of a shoebox, although once I turned it on it started buzzing so all good. Off I went to the supermarket to get some supplies thinking the room was going to work out.
Mistake three.
Shower time...Nothing like a good shower huh? A legit shower. Problem is this one wasn't legit. The non-legitness of this shower started early on in the piece too, from the moment the sliding shower door didn't slide. Not an auspicious start.
So, there's me under the shower all sudsy and soapy, with a pathetic drizzle of tepid water dribbling over me whilst trying to de-soap my rock hard bod without very much luck at all. It was a long shower, not through my enjoyment of it though; It was long through necessity - There just wasn't enough water. I even had time to count the number of holes in the shower-head. There's seventy five if you're wondering although only twelve of them had any water coming out of them and one worked more efficiently than the rest pushing forth a jet of water so intense that it could have cut granite in half!
I survived my shower though, and relished the moment I'd fall into bed for a nice relaxing sleep.
Mistake four.
I had a terrible night's sleep that first night. The literal translation of quiet location actually translates to noisy as fuck! around these parts apparently. Between the yahooing of the two-headed, snaggle-toothed, drift-racing miscreants and what sounded like jet fighters landing on the road outside (car noise) I didn't get much sleep. The dripping shower tap didn't help and I won't even mention the two in the room next door and their activities on and off during the night - I think they had a donkey, or maybe a goat, in there too. Sounded like it anyway. In the other side room some woman was retching up boogers and spitting them into the toilet all fucking night. The sound of said booger-retching and subsequent booger-spiting was hideous. So, no sleep - Very little anyway.
I was woken by a cacophony of road-noise filtering in at 6:30am and couldn't get back to sleep so I got up and braved another shower in which that single granite-cutting jet of water nearly cleft my head in twain [split my head in two]. The other eleven holes just dribbled miserably seemingly oblivious to my need to rinse soapy suds from my rock hard bod. I got dressed and headed to the range with a look of disgust, and more than a few soapy suds clinging to my Arnie-Schwarzenegger-style rock hard bod.
When I'm in a motel room for only a couple days I rarely get them to service the room. This is especially the case when I travel with guns. I stick that do not disturb sign (DNDS) on the door preferring the privacy of motel/or hotel staff not entering my room instead.
I did this on Friday morning, as usual, making sure the sign was on the door-knob and also slightly trapped in the door so as not to fly off if a rogue gust of wind came a long. I left my MacBookAir on the bed charging, my work phone next to it and my stuff, boxes of gun stuff all over the room knowing no one would mess with it.
Mistake five.
I came back to my room after finishing at the range and noticed the sign was gone. Instantly I employed my Jedi-Knight mind-calming technique due to an accelerated level of annoyance at what I suspected was a flagrant disregard for my DNDS. I went to the door hoping they had not entered and...Yep sure enough... Bed made, things straightened up etc. Assholes!
I walked over to the office, Jedi-Knight mind-calming technique now discarded and replaced with anger, and asked to see the manager. I [reasonably] calmly explained that my privacy was invaded and that it was unacceptable considering I'd clearly asked not to be disturbed with placement of the DNDS on the door. He stammered and spluttered something or other but I was relentless, and in no mood to his a feeble explanation. In the end he said it wouldn't happen the next day and that was about all I could hope for I guess despite wanting to shake him until his teeth rattled right out of his turban-wrapped head.
Back at the room I did an inventory and found everything intact and accounted for but was still pretty annoyed. I hope when I get back this afternoon I'll find they kept their word and did not enter or there might be a toothless Indian dude at the reception desk. I locked all my Pelican Cases up though, and brought all my guns with me, just in case.
Anyway, I'd better get going for a shower and see if I can avoid having my rock hard bod neatly severed into two pieces by that granite-cutting jet of water whilst trying to rinse soap suds off myself with the other eleven dribbles of water. Seriously, that one jet is so powerful - It's bloody dangerous.
I'll certainly be leaving a review for this motel on booking.com - I'm never too aggressive with those reviews, but I'll say it how it is nonetheless. This was a very cheap room, some $240 for three nights, so I guess I can't expect too much. The dripping shower, the murderous rock-hard-bod-cleaving shower-head, crappy decor and even the road noise is all probably par for the course...For me the worst part is the invasion of privacy despite my DNDS sign. I've travelled all over the country with my shooting sport, toting guns and equipment, and always use the do not disturb sign with this motel being the only time it has not been heeded. What the hell, motel people?! Respect the DNDS!
I'm not sure if you have ever had a similar situation happen but if so I'd like to hear about it. Motel-room horror stories! Do share if you have one.
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