I booked a hotel stay and accidentally walked into a low-budget suspense film.
Let’s start with the “on-site restaurant and bar.” Yes… they technically exist. Physically. Spiritually? Emotionally? Absolutely not. They were completely empty and visibly shut down — like movie-set props of what once was. Maybe add that disclaimer on the website because calling that an amenity is a bold creative choice.
We checked in later than usual, and right away I knew this stay was about to be ✨a story✨. The receptionist who helped us was visibly intoxicated — stumbling over words, barely forming sentences. I’ve had more organized conversations with autocorrect.
Then came the room key. Didn’t work. The card reader on the door was literally hanging on by a THREAD. I was half expecting it to fall off like, “my job here is done.” So we had to switch rooms… which meant another interaction with our tipsy front-desk tour guide. Love that arc for us.
Now let’s discuss the property itself. Calling it “dilapidated” feels generous. Peeling paint. Rust everywhere. Stains in the bathtub, on the toilet, on the walls — at that point I stopped asking questions for my own peace. And the cherry on top? Our door wouldn’t even deadbolt. If I had kids with me, I would’ve turned around and left so fast I’d break the sound barrier. This is not a family-friendly situation.
And I need you to mentally prepare for this sentence:
The elevators were the nicest part of the entire hotel.
Yes. The elevators. That’s t