Sounds like fun, right? Here’s the story of how I ended up paying to sleep at a crackhouse.
Mr. G and I went to Virginia this week to visit with our brand new granddaughter and our two other grandchildren, we decided to stay at a motel rather than put our daughter out by having her rearrange rooms having just come home from the hospital.
We, foolishly, picked the Super 8 Historic in Williamsburg. Being smokers we asked for a smoking room and were sent to the very back, dark corner of the motel, room 158. There were no vehicles at all, the lights on that end of the lot were out, we noticed there was a light in the room next to the one we were assigned to. We walked into our room, turned on the lights, the floor was littered with trash, someone’s dirty clothes were left in there, the toilet hadn’t been flushed and the smoke detector was dismantled.
We called the desk clerk who immediately came down, she was dismayed, or made the motions of being dismayed and when I remarked that I’m not sure if the bedding was even changed, she replied that she’s sure the bedding was changed. How did she know the bedding was changed when she didn’t know the rest of the room was in such disarray?
She then tried to put us in the next room. We told her the light was on, that somebody was in that room, she replied that she hadn’t rented that room. She and Mr. G looked in the room and, sure enough, the place was a mess and the smoke alarm in that room was also disabled. She told us that there was a harmless crazy guy that hung around and every now and then rented a room. I feel so much better now.
She then moved us to the upper end of the strip, the room was okay but was lacking the normal peep hole, a piece of tissue was protruding from it.
Spent the night sleeping with one eye open and my hand on my personal defense contraption.
The next morning we were getting ready to leave and a man came out of the room next to us, we didn’t even know he was there, like I said before, there were no other cars there, we watched as he walked into the woods. We had paid for 2 nights but decided that we weren’t spending another night there so we got a refund. I told Mr. G that if she refused the refund to tell her that we had pictures and the Fire Marshall on speed dial but she didn’t hesitate to give us a refund.
So maybe it wasn’t a crackhouse per se but it doesn’t explain how people got into the rooms or how the smoke alarms became disabled. The clerk also told us that her boss was on vacation in India for 2 weeks. My guess is that someone let their homey’s stay there while the cat was away. I don’t think it was night clerk because surely she wouldn’t have rented us a room knowing someone else was in there.
This experience also got me to thinking about how smokers are treated and I had a pissed off post all ready to go, which I still may post.
UPDATE: Called the Fire Marshall, his response was, “I’m on my way there right now”. 😀
Called the corporate office and relayed our story and got an “I’m sorry” a couple of times and a promise to contact the manager of the motel. Not sure what, if any, good it did to complain. The girl sounded a bit dis-interested.