Unsanitized for your protection.
Sunday, March 8, 2009 at 07:14PM 
I recently traversed the flinty patchwork of the Southern Interstates, using the ubiquitous William Shatner to negotiate my entree into the promised one, two, three and perhaps four-star hotels. Unfortunately, most of my hotels did not merit a even a dwarf-star rating.
Staying at a discount hotel is like the home buying experience in miniature. It begins with a ceremonial handing over of the keys and the inevitable buyer's remorse as you open the door. You know you've gotten a solid deal from your virtual travel agent when your first inclination after seeing your room is to call for backup.
The let down began when I was immediately greeted by a shag carpet that smelled like the green room at an Amy Winehouse concert.
After the first wave of odiferous horror, I realized that the room felt, well, Chernobyl-like. The thermostat was set at a sweltering 87 degrees. Obviously, the previous occupant was a fugitive from a nursing home or was attempting to grow rare Panamanian orchids.
The bathroom is always a measure of the hotel's willingness to sooth the savagery of the road warrior's day. I once stayed at the Four Seasons Hotel in St. Louis where a television was built into the bathroom mirror. My hotel, didn't have a mirror-- just brushed aluminum -- apparently, a fixture picked up from a prison rummage sale.
Then, I perused the toilet area. Where there should have been one of those crisp white strips stating that bowl was "Sanitized for your Protection," mine just had a skull and bones bio-hazard warning and the phone number for the Centers for Disease Control. And instead of the Four Season neat little toast points at end of the velvet- soft toilet paper, there was only a ragged edge of what I would describe as part loofah, part wood chips. It's the kind of bathroom tissue that makes one pray for a serious bout of constipation.
The bathtub looked like someone had sprinkled roofing tar and sandstone along the bottom. In a successful attempt to dissuade people from taking baths, the drain hole was expanded. You had to have a New York City man hole cover and welding equipment to plug up that conspicuous cavity.
While some upscale hotels brag about their sheets with Egyptian tread counts in the millions, my sheets were virtually invisible. I'm convinced the sheets were barely held together by the odor of the aforementioned stinky rug. Even the Gideon's bible had some pages ripped out -- the parable about the Good Samaritan.
Then, I noticed the small sign on the back of the hotel door. This is the place were the hotel owners inflate the price of the hotel room so that you think you're getting quite the bargain. Mine indicated $299 a night. Perhaps the decimal point was left out.
The hotel did offer a lavish "Continental Breakfast." Yeah, the Continental army. A ration of water and hard biscuit. And was obvious from the cobwebs that the coffee pot was just for show.
Thank you Captain Kirk. "Live long, prosper......and stay home!"
Reader Comments (2)
Sounds like all that was missing from your flop were stone knives and bearskins.
A typical road warrior's nightmare. I'll be wary of Shatner's negotiations. Then again, Kirk wasn't the greatest person to negotiate road traffic - just ask Ms. Keeler.
Jim, I put my faith in Kirk and was sorely disappointed except for one delightful evening somewhere in the Midwest. I stayed at the Hyatt Place for mere pennies and it was luxurious. Unfortunately, the free breakfast began at 6 and I had to leave at 5 am.