Tuesday, May 22, 2018

A Hotel

Following the weekend's theme of "nasty", the hotel was, too.

These prospect camps assign you a hotel, and it's a hotel that kicks money back to the team in exchange for the flood of occupants they receive. The problem is that these are generally not nice hotels, because the nice hotels don't need to do this.

Our hotel was built in 1964, then allegedly renovated two years ago. It wasn't a hockey hotel +, or even a hockey hotel. It was a hockey hotel -, which is pretty depressing.

I awarded it the "Best Western Most Likely To Get Robbed In", and I believe it's earned that award for several years running.

Hotels like this are just depressing. They're always cramped, they're dark, there's not much room to put anything, and they're never clean. I vow that I will never stay in a hotel like this after Eli 16.10 finishes hockey, but as long as tournaments and camps make you stay at a certain hotel, we're stuck.

On the plus side: I tipped the nice maid, and she looked like she hadn't been tipped since 1964, and that got us five bath towels each day, which we usually wind up needing.

There was a restaurant, and we went down Saturday morning for (possibly) breakfast, depending on how it looked. We walked in and it looked reasonably clean, and people were sitting at tables. "This looks okay," Eli 16.10 said, and I started walking around. "Dad!" he said (I'd give that half an exclamation mark if one existed). "Dad, what are you doing?"

I came back a few seconds later. "Eight parties seated," I said. "Zero parties eating."

"Let's go," he said. "McDonald's. Nice catch, Dad." We walked toward the lobby. "Man, that was next level," he said, laughing.

On a side note, we looked at reviews of the restaurant later, and one of the most recent ones said that a bug had been baked into their pizza.

Definitely dodged a bullet. Or a bug.

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