You Get What You Pay For
Last month I found myself in need of a cheap New York hotel room. Unfortunately, as anyone who has ever been to New York knows, the words "cheap" and "hotel" are seldom, if ever, used in the same sentence (The word "room" however, is used freely in sentences throughout the city).
The reality was I had to sleep somewhere, so after a somewhat frustrating Internet search, I settled on a hotel whose chief advantages were it's close proximity to the location I'd be working in and naturally it's price. It should be noted that "cheap" in New York was still $180. At that price, how bad could it be?
I arrived in New York and after a full day of work, with some trepidation, made my way a few short blocks to my New York accommodations. The front door to the hotel was locked but was promptly answered by a charming young woman who doubled as a both front desk clerk and porter. After she checked me in, although I declined her offer to carry my bag to the room, she insisted on accompanying me anyway.
Now, you wouldn't expect that a hotel of this stature would be equipped with a gym and in this case you would be right. Fortunately an excellent workout is not only available but also required, as the hotel has no elevator.
The porter and I trudged up four flights of stairs to room 46 and while I was in dire need of rest and perhaps oxygen, I toughed it out and walked into what would be my home for the next four nights.
The first thing I noticed was the crooked floor. It evoked memories of the old Batman TV series where the villain's hideout was filmed on a slant. With no TV villains in sight, the porter showed me the room’s numerous "amenities.”
She pointed out the mini-fridge, which was stocked with over priced bottles of water, the microwave oven, the flat screen TV, and even the clock radio, which she excitedly explained could accommodate an iPhone.
Despite the crooked floor, I agreed to take the room and with a smile, the porter thanked me and left. I never saw her again. In fact, for the remainder of my stay, regardless of when I passed the front desk (more of a counter really), I never saw anyone manning the post.
Alone in a room that was barely wider than the bed, I began to unpack.There was ample room in an old dresser and a variety of mismatched hangers in the closet to hang up my shirts. The closet also contained a safe. Part of the safe's unique security system was the incredible amount of stuff piled in front of the actual safe.
In order to get to the safe, one would need to move the cot, the mattress, the weird little luggage rack found in hotels that no one actually uses, the ironing board, and the air conditioner. Instead I opted not to leave any valuables in the room.
Before venturing out for dinner, I went to use the bathroom. The toilet cover was down and there appeared to be a small piece of soap stuck to it. I thought that was odd. As it turned out, it was not quite as odd as the hair in the toilet. This was not the single hair in a salad that grosses out the average diner. This actually appeared to be the result of a full-blown haircut. It looked as though someone finally had had enough of their hair and simply hacked it off. All of it.
Ordinarily I would have immediately dialed the front desk to complain. Of course, ordinarily the room would have been equipped with a phone. The mere thought of hiking down to the desk, and worse, hiking back up, was more than my oxygen-depleted body could bear. Instead, I quickly flushed the toilet and tried to put the hair out of my mind.
Over the next four nights I discovered some more “amenities.” For instance, the hotel thoughtfully made it easy to turn out the lights when leaving by providing only 1 single overhead lamp in the entire room.
And, I discovered that the room had only “too” temperatures. That’s not a typo. The room was either too hot or too cold. The thermostat, more commonly known as a window, did allow for some temperature adjustment. Letting the cold December air in managed to make the temperature tolerable and had the added advantage of allowing me to soak in the sounds of the 14th street revelers below. You wouldn’t think that there would be that many people out making noise at 2am on a Tuesday night but in this case, you would be wrong.
As my stay came to a close, I received a card from the maid who claimed to have cleaned my room that week.
While no additional hair had appeared in my toilet, the little piece of soap never disappeared either and I was reasonably certain that cleaning the room involved making the bed and very little else.
This is normally the part of the story where a sentence might begin like this:
“The hotel was not without it’s charm,” or “On the positive side” or even,“One redeeming quality was…”
But in New York, for $180, sentences simply do not begin that way. I wonder what kind of sentence I could write for $185?
