Love it or hate it: Hotels

by David Holub

Love itIf I ever had my own private Idaho, it was a hotel room.

Hotel rooms are all about being able to control a space and what you do in that space. I especially love this fact when staying in a hotel alone. If I want to order so much Mexican takeout that the restaurant puts an assumptive two forks in the to-go bag, then put down a towel on the bed and stuff my face while flipping through the worst of cable TV or the trashiest of Cinemax while wiping my face with a shower cap, I can. If I want to crank up the AC and make the room 59 degrees because it’s 100 outside with 100 percent humidity, I can. If I want to put out the “do not disturb” sign, secure the deadbolt and chain lock and not answer the door for any reason, other than I’m expecting the Chinese delivery, I can. If I want to use the two double beds as some yet-to-be-invented Olympic trampoline sport – which I most certainly have – I can.

Then again, perhaps my love of hotels is clouded by the fact that I’m generally on vacation when staying at one and am both relaxed and carefree, and thus, have only positive associations. Maybe that’s all there is to it.

David HolubHate itI don’t got the greenback stacks it would take to like hotels, and even if I did, I’d be tempted to spend that moola on gianormo rhinestone necklaces or slim fit suits, instead of a room that was costly enough to not be gross.

I think hotels are a rip-off. I think motels are less of a rip-off and yet more horrorful. Airbnb is decent but can be expensive. All of them trigger my NO I WILL NOT GIVE YOU THAT MUCH MONEY or EW EW EW buttons.

I have seen too many “Hotel Hell” snippets of Gordon Ramsay black-lighting a bed or the carpet only to see massive, people-juice stains to easily sleep in a hotel bed. I never walk barefoot on the carpet. I am unsettled by the dead mites and nast contained within pillows. Ditto that for the grime that can be seen around faucets or grout. I rip the (usually) ass-ugly quilt that’s probably not washed enough off the bed. Who checks for bedbugs? ME. Who flips the bird to vents because there may be a psycho’s camera in it getting nudie vids? ME.

There are so many chances for a hotel to be BLEGH that I can’t ever relax in one and find myself in a generally paranoid, touch-as-little-as-possible state my whole stay. Then you get a bullshit-ish-ly large bill for your six-hour nap. Bah and no. I’ll sleep in my car and save the money for first editions.

Patty Templeton


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