Hell Hotel, Part I

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Now, today's story...

Last summer, my cousin and I took a road trip up to North Carolina. Our grandparents own some land up in the mountains. They carry their trailer up there every summer and hang out where it's much, much cooler. I like their thinking. Anyway, Jennifer and I had been talking about the trip for quite some time... finally last summer we made it happen.

We decided to stay up there in the cabin for a week with them. (Why do they bring their fifth-wheel if they have a cabin, you ask? Well, smart ass, it's not really a cabin. It's a 10 by 10 shed that I helped my grandfather build. We outfitted it to house a bathroom, laundry facilities, and a futon. There's also air mattress space in the loft. Smart ass.)

Back to my story (as if you could focus on anything else now, what with all the parentheticality (I know it's not a word.).) One week in the mountains, followed by three days in Atlanta on the way home. That was the plan. Well the grandparents pampered us in North Carolina, and that was great, but we were on our own for Georgia's biggest city.

So before we left, we found a Days Inn for a decent price — $50 a night. So we called and booked a room, only I think the woman was having difficulty comprehending the term "non-smoking." (More on smokers another day. And oh yes, if you are one, odds are I will offend you. Because you suck.)

So the best, most relaxing week of our lives ends and we set forth from the mountains to Atlanta. Our Mapquest (free plug just because) maps led us to our Days Inn. At first glance, looked liked kind of a trashy place. Let me paint you a picture. It was attached to a Waffle House. Enough said? Thought so.

But we're dumb enough to give it a shot. I mean we do realize there's a reason we're paying only $50 a night. We get our keys and in we go. First thing we notice? The utter stench of lingering cigarette smoke. Let's be clear that we asked for and she assured us that it would be a non-smoking room. If she wasn't lying, then some idiot can't read signs written in English. And there are no towels. Also, there is no lock on the bathroom door.

So like the demanding little punks we are, we asked for a new room. Also smoky. And no towels (though we'd picked up some at the front desk by that point). And a broken lock on the bathroom door. And a now the ceiling is caving in. I've had enough and Jennifer's had more than enough of this. We imagine that perhaps we're just being pissy because of the long drive. So we decide to take a breather and grab some much needed grub at a Friday's just a few miles up I-75.

This is kind of a long story and I'm not wild about really long posts, so I'm gonna stop right there and just say to be continued. I'll let you know what happened from there tomorrow. And unfortunately, it wasn't pleasant.

Wrong One: By the way, it turns out that when I went to my house today to pick up the CD that has all of my UK pictures on it, I grabbed the wrong one. And I know, like me, you're absolutely dying to see them. They're coming. (Now I'm worried whether they'll live up to all the hype.)