“…was some fucking pretzel nibs.”
Now before I get too deep in to this, I should mention something. There is an unwritten rule in the land of Cooking For One. And that is this. The closer to the beginning of the post I drop the first f-bomb, the more fire-up/incredulous/exited/generally emotional about something I am.
Or rather, until that last paragraph there was an unwritten rule.
Fuck. There goes that one.
I want to start by mentioning that as soon as I knew I was going to be staying at a Best Western, I signed up for rewards points. So…I’m some kind of blip on their screen that says they have to try to remember my name and give me free bottles of water or something. Remember that, we’ll circle back around to that shortly.
I’m here in Brooklyn with 2 of my co-workers.
The trip was rather uneventful as far as my New York trips have gone. We got here on time. And our luggage got here the same time we did. And I have to be honest–I’m a little cheesed off by that. But Todd, how can you be pissed that your luggage wasn’t lost?!?
Good question. I’ll tell you why. Because I was prepared this time. I actually packed a separate carry on with a change of clothes, toiletries, my CPAP machine (which I did NOT expect to have to dig back out for TSA, dudes, really?!?)–in other words, I was prepared for there to be some fustercluck with the luggage.
Nothing. Zip. Nada.
We took a brief detour to the Queens store. It was very close to the air port, we needed some tools, the new guy hadn’t seen it yet, and it saved me a 3 hour round trip tomorrow. I didn’t expect to go back, but eh…whatareyagonnado?
After 2 hours there, we headed up the BQE to the hotel. I may or may not have mentioned something about this trip being uneventful and woe is me whatthefuck am I going to blog about.
Mistake. Big mistake. Huge.
So, we park and go inside to check in. The other guys check in first. We’re all on the second floor. Groovy.
I mentioned that I was a Best Western rewards member. Suddenly he has to give me different room keys….and he gives me a bottle of water (But hands the other 2 guys a bottle, too. I think he just felt bad).
And then he lays this one…”Ok…Mr. N– and Mr. St–, your rooms have a mini-fridge. Mr. Skaggs, yours does not. I hope that’s not going to be a problem.” It was. I was a little pissy. But I shook it off and said, “I’ll just keep my beer in their fridge.” Ha ha..ok. Big chuckle. We head up to our rooms.
And I had something to blog about.
I would have been fine ending the post here. But it gets better.
By this time, it’s nearly eleven PM and we’re all knackered. The thought of waiting for food to be delivered is not sitting well. That’s ok though, because in this very fancy Hotel, there are
ICE Machines on Floors 2, 6, and 10.
Soda Machines on every odd floor.
Snack Machines on Floors 4 and 8.
I stopped to get ice first. The ice bucket was a standard size ice bucket. The bag for the ice is the size of a young child’s swim cap. OK…so…not much ice, check.
I head up to 4 for some snacks and was greeted with this.
So, lessee….if we’re adding it up, it goes
- No mini-fridge
- Room tinier than my bedroom at home
- Big drapes that are decorative and won’t close (the thin inner curtains are closed)
- Broke-ass office chair
- Psycho Vending Machines
- Extraneous trips on the elevator
- which to be fair…on one of the trips I saw 10 members of what I could only assume to be a clown family get off (seriously, if you had seen them-you would have assumed the elevator to be twice as big as it was–mind, blown).
- and I’m pretty sure I saw a Russian hooker and her pimp
- And OHMYFRIGGINCRAP can you please make this wind stop. Holy shit its like it’s going to blow in the windows!!
Speaking of psycho vending machines. Not sure if you caught this or not…
That will teach me to bitch about not having things to blog about. And now I need to hook up my CPAP and get some sleep. I predict a busy day tomorrow.