Nurse the Hate: Hate the Quality Inn

“Hello Greg!  Would you like to review your recent stay at Quality Inn?”

Friends,

First of all please allow me to say how much I appreciate you requesting my feedback on my recent hotel stay.  I had always quietly suspected that you were interested in my experiences and you were not just a faceless internet travel reservations company.  This correspondence to me today only solidifies the deep and rich feelings of affection I have for your company.  You care about me, not as a customer, but as a man.  In a cold world where a true connection is almost impossible, you have only confirmed the deep feelings we have for one another.  I thank you.  I wish we could have a long embrace where neither of us spoke, but only let the moment pass between us.  I wanted you to know that.

My recent stay…  yes, where do I begin?  That evening we had played a rock and roll show in Erie Pennsylvania.  Being people involved in the travel industry, you are no doubt well versed on Erie and the wild underground rock culture that is well hidden from view of the unsuspecting public.  There are some true degenerates there, as you no doubt know.  However, I use the word “degenerate” as a term of affection in this case.  It is not often in today’s world where one can perform heartfelt personal songs written in an Ohio basement to a room stuffed full of people in the depths of massive LSD trips.  From my vantage point, it appeared that a few of these people needed a psychedelic captain, as the trip we took them on was not the one they had intended. A man in a cowboy hat wildly yelling into a microphone about The Devil, the Consequence of Choice, and cat pajamas is not something many of them were prepared for. 

I was unaware that LSD had made a comeback.  As Erie often stubbornly holds onto the past, maybe it never left.  More likely it is a case of these rugged individualists making their own fun in a dreary rainy evening.  I know that The Kids like smoking marijuana of increasing strength nowadays.  The wise sage Chris Crofton recently noted that young people today like to smoke pot that makes them feel like radioactive coconut crabs.  I suppose when you feel like a radioactive coconut crab on a daily basis, when the weekend hits, you want to take it up a notch.  I think that a few of these folks greatly underestimated the rocket ship they climbed onto.  I have a slight regret about telling one of them I could see into the future like a witch.  That was a lot for this kid to deal with on a Friday.  I hope she got home OK. 

My game plan was to drive back to be crisp and refreshed for a wine event on Saturday.  As a man that is believed to know what he is talking about in regards to wine quality, I can’t be sleep deprived calling some crappy Central Coast California Cabernet “transcendent” when it’s something that shouldn’t be used to wash your car.  Look, no one should even use the word “transcendent” in regards to wine anyway, as that only confirms that negative perceptions about so-called “wine experts”.  I’m not above pulling out fluffy language if I’m tired as shit though.  I will bluff my way through a room of people if I have to.  It’s only because you and I are so close that I will admit this to you.  There are many dark corridors in my soul.  I know you accept me for who I am, so I will unburden myself with this painful admission. Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?

Just to check my options, I checked your helpful mobile app.  It was there I discovered the bargain rate of $46 for the Quality Inn.  Despite some trepidation, I clicked “accept” and locked the band in for a night so I could avoid the overnight drive.  I knew this would not be a four star experience, but I was just looking for six solid hours of sleep in an atmosphere where I wouldn’t question if a prostitute had been murdered in the bed within the last 48 hours.  I think $46 should allow me that piece of mind.  As the hotel was nowhere close to an airport, that only confirmed my gut feeling of minimizing the potential of sleeping on a murder site.  I drove us to the hotel with a serene mindset.

I could immediately tell the Quality Inn was one of those franchises that was owned by an Indian immigrant.  I wish I understood why there exists a population of people in India that decide their path in life is to move to the United States to buy a two star hotel and then put as little money as possible into the upkeep.  There must be seminars in New Delhi where a classroom of people are studiously taking notes like “Do not replace any carpet.  Regardless of the circumstance, do not update any plumbing.  Make sure and buy the absolute cheapest soap for the rooms.”  I almost took one of the business cards from the thoughtfully provided six stacks of cards near the front door to tell Mr. Patel what a fine job he was doing maintaining the lowest possible standards as per his seminar teachings.

A pointlessly confrontational desk clerk checked us in.  Walter was like a flesh and blood version of Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons.  Despite Sugar’s somewhat charming plea for a bag of pretzels from the outsized snack box visible behind the counter, Walter would not surrender the .11 cent snack.  “That is for preferred members.  You are NOT preferred members.  You have a pre paid internet rate.”  Walter then told us the only food available was from the dated vending machines down the hallway.  Sugar then made another case for a comp snack, was refused, and received 4 quarters change from the visibly annoyed Walter.     

When we arrived at the 1990-styled snack machine, we discovered it would not accept coins.  Walter gave Sugar change knowing damn well it would prevent her from getting the snack she was targeting.  Walter has his little games.  Luckily for Sugar and Leo, I had two singles.  In a nice passive aggressive profit seeking strategy, Mr. Patel had priced many of the snacks at $1.05 to insure that guests would insert $2 and then not receive any change.  What a wily operator!  Sugar chose the Lance Cheese Crackers, whereas Leo went for the chocolate peanut butter wafer cookies.  Delightful.

The hotel appeared to have two sections, Smoking and Heavy Smoking.  The entire place smelled like my Mom’s old VW Beetle in 1978.  An odd combination of Marlboro Red and hairspray.  Our room had the cheer of a minimum security prison.  It would have been an excellent place to film a budget porn movie, but one with a specific kink like midgets or foot worship.  If you listened closely, you could hear crying in the adjoining room.  To combat that we turned on the low def TV and to our joy found a Dolemite movie.  We fell asleep to the sound of rain falling off the roof onto a loose piece of metal outside our window. 

There was a complimentary breakfast, but I suspected the rations would have been a choice of Froot Loops from a plastic container and powdered eggs served on white Styrofoam plates.  I decided for the good of the band to let them sleep past the dining hours as I scrolled though pictures on social media hoping to catch a glimpse of something interesting.  I took a shower as a way to wake the kids up where I discovered the temperature options of the water were limited to “icy slush” or “flesh ripping hot”.  The good news was I didn’t have to choose between the two as the shower thoughtfully veered back and forth at its own pace.  The industrial strength soap made me feel somewhat clean though I am concerned about the rash that broke out.  The towels smelled slightly less sour than I expected.  All and all, an acceptable experience.

I would rate the Quality Inn as meeting but not exceeding expectations.  Obviously my expectations were quite tempered, so make sure to allow other potential guests know their experience will be defined by their own mindset going in.  Once again, thank you for contacting me for my feedback.  I really feel like our relationship is entering a new phase.  You are not someone running away from intimacy, but running towards the bright shining light.  I welcome our future together. 

Regards,

G. Miller