Reader, I’ve started my career as a one-tank-trip reporter except 1/ No one is paying me for my experience, 2/ So far it’s more than one tank, and 3/ I’m really not great at roadtrips that last more than two hours. That’s about my threshold.
Today was my first day on the move towards my friendie JodyGirlie (that’s her official blogging nickname) and let’s give it all a quick recap.
1/ I am not an early starter on road trips, when I don’t have an agenda or anyone else depending upon me to be somewhere. I didn’t get actually ON THE ROAD towards upstate NY until close to 2 p.m. I know, I know. My target time was 10 a.m. I’m not sure exactly what happened.
2/ At my one-hour-forty in, I decided to stop to stretch my legs, and conveniently I was right by Presque Isle Casino, so what better place for clean bathrooms, free coffee and a hot second of video poker. As actual luck and not just the saying “as luck would have it,” I skipped on outta there with $100+ ahead in no time flat. Because that’s how we do it like a badass.
3/ Based on my experience eating on the road during my last road trip to Chicago, I became my Grandmother and packed myself a peanut-butter-and-peach-jalapeno-jelly sandwich (which frankly was quite spicy and maybe not the best jelly choice, Reader) to eat on the road. Those rest stop places really did not impress me last month. I also brought fresh cantaloupe, a plum, a banana, some candy, two bottled waters, a Coke Zero to make my in-room rum & coke, which I’m enjoying right this very minute, and a couple of “complete nutrition” protein drinks just in case I found myself getting a little peckish.
I was peckish.
I am peckish.
Because I picked a crap hotel high on a hill in Farmington due to the ‘it’s-getting-late-and-it’s-raining’ hour and there is NO FOOD that delivers to this Finger Lakes Hotel, and the restaurant closed early due to lack of patrons. Instead I’m enjoying my rum & coke, my plum and my cantaloupe.
Good thing this hotel comes with a continental breakfast in the morning, and I plan on eating ALL OF THE BAGELS and ALL of the other foods there out of SPITE starting at 7 a.m.
4/ Why am I going to Spite Eat, you ask? Well, let me shed a little light on that for you, Reader. At the risk fo this being a long long story, the cliff’s notes version is I pulled off and decided to “wing it” at a hotel instead of going to my planned-in-my-head destination in BALDWINSVILLE because I must be a part-owner of that town and therefore should visit my property, except I was still an hour out at 8 p.m. and it started to rain and so why not here.
I found the Finger Lakes Hotel which sounded nice enough, it’s high up on a hill and not near a motherfucking other thing. Plus it was cheapish, $86.50 to be exact, which was less than my casino winnings and therefore free with money left over.
Except. I went to the room, and there were a bunch of people drinking and carrying on in the parking lot, and a lot lot lotta empty beer cases were strewn about right outside the steps to my room. I decided to just take my purse and go check it out, and it was dark and dirty complete with other people’s hair in the sink, and it has a movable air conditioning unit sitting in the room with a big vent thing going out the window, and preventing the window from closing. The bed looked …. not great. I turned on my phone flashlight to check for bedbugs, and it looked clean enough but I was still quite hesitant.
After a moment of thought I decided to just go get my money back and truck on down the road.
That’s when All The Troubles began. All of them. Every. Single Trouble. And my decision to Spite Eat in the morning.
Because they said nope, no refundies. The manager wouldn’t even get on the phone, she just texted the girl who was working the desk with a nope. It got so bad in that lobby I ended up calling the police PURELY to inconvenience everyone and make the girl cry, which it did. The police guy showed up and said he can’t do anything about it – of course he can’t – and I’ll have to file a civil suit, so I demanded the managers name – it’s ALECIA STEPHENSON and she’s on Facebook and she’s a C.U.N.T. by the way, and then I demanded a new room since I wasn’t getting a refund and told her that I’d be down in the morning and eating $86 worth of all the free breakfast.
That Alecia Stephenson is going to RUE the day she wouldn’t give me my refund, once the wrath of my vast readership boycotts this hotel and trolls her on social media (go ahead, Reader, give her hell!).
I don’t really even know how trolling works, but I may figure it out. Unless that means I have to reinstate my Twitter account. I’m not doing that.
I also made a big stink that of course I wasn’t staying at this shithole, but then my new room? Was actually updated. Had I gotten the decent room first a whole lotta drama coulda been avoided.
But seriously, what kind of customer service is it that I couldn’t get my money back after looking at the room? There was nothing in the paperwork that said no refunds or final sale. So if I had opened the room and it just had a big steaming pile of shit on the bed, oh well? I’ve decided it’s some podunk-town shit and I even told the girl something like, “maybe you should look for a job someplace where you could have some pride in where you work,” and the police man yelled at ME and said “Enough!” and I thought FUCK YOU, civil rights, but I didn’t say that because I’m too far from home and don’t need to go to jail for being lippy.
My Mister called me a little while ago and begged me not to eat all the bagels in the morning. I can’t commit to that, but he’s nervous they’re going to have the police watching the buffet for bagel over-takers, and if they did my god that would really be something!
After all that lobby drama I figured I’d better not head out to try to find food somewhere and that’s why I’m having rum for dinner.
5/ The saddest part of my whole journey was when I passed a sign announcing the Jello Museum, and it was too late to visit and learn about the history of jello. Because I totally would have been there, and then probably would have had a whole different hotel and wouldn’t be forced on principle to have a carb overload in the morning, so basically it’s the Jello Museum’s fault for not being opened past 4 p.m. as to why I’m going to be bloated up on bread tomorrow.
You better believe I’m already planning to hit that up on my return trip, Exit 47, baby. Exit 47 is where the magic happens.
6/ I plan on taking the toilet paper tomorrow, too. Yes, out of spite.
7/ When I was in the lobby complaining, some guy showed up and looked really uncomfortable and when she asked what he needed he said, “Uh, a plunger. My dad clogged up the toilet.” She had to send maintenance to deal with that shit.
8/ Dealing with that bitch manager of this place made it really crystal clear to me how things with Thelma and Louise escalated so quickly. If I had dynamite, I’d probably throw a stick of it over my shoulder on my way out of town tomorrow, too.
9/ No, that’s not over reacting, it’s completely justified especially when your dinner is rum.
10/ Basically there is nothing I need to visit in this particular region of the world ever again because I’m now super-soured on the Farmington and this little surrounding area because people around here are assholes. Except I need to visit that Jello Museum. There’s always room for a little Jello.*
*yes, I went there. It begged for it.