I am taking my first out-of-state vacation in five years, and I’ve flown all the way from the USA’s West Coast to the East Coast to stay in a couple of large but lesser-visited cities instead of the major tourist areas like New York, Philadelphia, or Washington.
I spend five nights in the first city on my tour, an East Coast state capital, and while the experience in the city is fantastic, the hotel is… something else.
Day one. I arrive fairly late in the evening and give the receptionist at the front desk my ID, and he looks at it very suspiciously.
Receptionist #1: “Is this fake?”
I’m surprised; my picture doesn’t look THAT outdated.
Me: “No? That’s me.”
He hands my ID back, thankfully.
Receptionist #1: “I can’t accept this.”
Me: “What’s wrong with it?”
Receptionist #1: “If I told you, you’d come back with a better fake. Do you have a real ID?”
Me: “Fine. Whatever. I have my passport, as well.”
I hand the attendant my passport, which is some five years older than my license, with an even more outdated photo. He takes one look at it before tossing it back.
Receptionist #1: “No, that one has the same problem.”
Me: “Which is what?”
Receptionist #1: “There’s no such place as Oregon.”
Me: “…I’m sorry, what? It’s a state in the Pacific Northwest, directly above California. I’m from Portland.”
Receptionist #1: *Condescendingly* “Portland is in Maine.”
Me: “There is a Portland in Maine, yes, that’s the original—”
Receptionist #1: “Oregon was that country all the pioneers went to in the covered wagons. The Oregon Trail.”
Me: “Exactly!”
Receptionist #1: “But it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s part of Canada now.”
Me: *Thoroughly astounded* “Okay, pull up Google Maps…”
After looking at a map of the US, including the Wikipedia article about the state of Oregon and how it became the thirty-third state in 1859, to [Receptionist #1]’s credit, he does seem to admit defeat and accept my ID as valid. Naively, I think that’s the end of the issues.
Day two. I spend the day exploring the city, and I go back to the hotel to find that my key card has been deactivated. Silly me; I accidentally kept my key card in the same pocket as my phone. I usually don’t make that mistake. I go back down to the front desk. There is a different person working there this time.
Me: “Hey, I’m sorry. I accidentally deactivated my key card. I had it in the same pocket as my—”
[Receptionist #2] acts as though I’ve asked her to personally carry my luggage up three flights of stairs.
Receptionist #2: “Guhhh… What room number?”
Me: “Uh… [number].”
This receptionist doesn’t even check my ID at all; she just takes the key, remagnetizes it, and sends me on my way. I am a little concerned about the security in this hotel, but I’m not about to go through the same Oregon song and dance with this receptionist, so I just take my key and leave.
Day three. I come back to my hotel room around lunchtime to find my key deactivated again, even though I’ve kept it away from magnetic sources. Sighing and resigning myself to another visit to the front desk, I bite the bullet and go get it reactivated.
Receptionist #2: “You know, you really can’t keep your key card in your pocket with your phone or other cards because it messes with the magstripe. Don’t you know that?”
Me: “I’m aware. I’m sorry. Just… set it back up, please.”
This time, I put my wallet, phone, and passport in my left cargo shorts pockets, with the room key literally the only thing in my right pocket. Not six hours later, I try to get back in my room, and… no dice. Mentally cursing my luck, I march back down to the front desk.
Me: “Key’s broke again.”
Receptionist #2: “God, I told you—”
Me: “I’m going to stop you right there. Look at this.”
I then proceed to show the receptionist exactly where everything is in my pockets, after which she just sighs and remakes my key.
Me: “At this point, wouldn’t it just be easier to get me a completely different key? If this one is refusing to hold a charge—”
Receptionist #2: *Glaring at me* “No. I’ve already made the key. Just go.”
All righty, then. I am too tired and frustrated to say anything, so I head for the elevator to return to my room. But as soon as the doors open—
Me: “What in the f***?”
Somehow, the elevator itself is stuck a full eighteen inches above the actual floor level, and the poor elderly lady actually in the elevator is just as surprised as I am. After helping the lady out, I go back to the receptionist to let her know that the elevator appears to be malfunctioning.
Receptionist #2: “And how is that my problem? It still works fine. Just watch your step.”
Needless to say, I take the stairs after that.
Day four. Somehow, nothing bizarre actually happened with the hotel itself today. Just… surrounding it. I call a rideshare to drive me to the other side of town for a sporting event. While standing outside waiting for the driver to show up, I see the rideshare car enter the parking lot, drive right by me, and do two very slow laps around the hotel. The driver looks very confused when she passes by the second time. I am unable to flag her down and get her attention before she just wanders off back onto the highway, and I get a notification that my ride has been canceled.
So, I resort to taking the bus. Fine enough… except that on the way back, the driver completely ignores my signal to stop at the station just outside the hotel.
Me: “Um… sorry, that was my stop.”
Bus Driver: *Happy as a clam* “Hmm? Oh, there’s no bus stop at that corner. I’ll drop you at the next one.”
When I make it back to that corner, I take a good long look at the very plainly marked bus stop on the hotel’s corner, served only by the line that I rode.
Okay. Apparently, this hotel is just in another dimension or something.
Day five: my last day before flying to another city. I collect all my dirty laundry and go pay a visit to the laundry room downstairs, only to find the door locked. Upon closer inspection, I realize that it hasn’t actually opened for the day yet; it’s 8:45, and the sign says it opens at 9:00. No big deal. I hang out in the lobby and read for a while.
It’s almost 9:30 by the time I check on the laundry room again. It’s still locked. I head up to the front desk yet again, thoroughly ready for this saga to be over. Lo and behold, there’s a completely different receptionist this time. My heart rises with hope for one very brief moment.
Me: “Hey, sorry, it looks like your laundry room hasn’t been unlocked yet. It says it’s supposed to open at 9:00—”
Receptionist #3: “It’s not for customers.”
Me: *Pauses* “Sorry, what? It says on the door, ‘Guest Laundry.’ I’m a guest in room [number].”
Receptionist #3: “You’re not a guest; you’re a customer. The laundry room is not for customers.”
Me: *Pauses again* “Then what, pray tell, would qualify anyone as a guest, if staying at your hotel makes them a customer?”
Receptionist #3: “Are you a president? Are you a governor? Are you [Some Celebrity I’ve never heard of]? No? Then you’re a customer.”
My mind blown, I walked down the street with my bag of dirty laundry to a laundromat a half-mile away. Upon returning, I completely forgot about the stupid elevator and got in. As soon as the doors closed and the horrid grinding started, I knew I’d made a mistake.
Somehow, the elevator made it almost to my floor. I say, “almost,” because it opened the doors about four feet below my floor. I have absolutely no idea how in the world the mechanisms in any elevator could even make that possible, but this particular elevator didn’t look like it had been inspected — much less maintained — since the Carter administration.
Not one to admit defeat, I tossed my laundry bag up onto the landing and climbed out. I was just about ready to go down and demand the hotel’s manager, something I absolutely NEVER do. I just wanted to drop my clothes off in my room first.
I got to my room… only to find my key card once again deactivated.
The worst part? I discovered that [Receptionist #3], who had denied me the use of the laundry room, was the day manager, and [Receptionist #1], who thought Oregon was the American Atlantis, was the night manager.
I went back to my room, survived the final night, packed up, dropped my useless keys at the front desk, and booked it straight to the airport.
I’ll go back to [City] in a heartbeat; I loved it and had a great time. But I can’t help but wonder if that hotel was halfway into a different reality entirely.
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