Visit to Dumbfukistan

Sometimes I just have the crappiest luck when traveling. Take my last trip for example. I was staying at a Hampton Inn. The hotel itself was for the most part nondescript. It was, however, conveniently placed between an IHOP (breakfast) and a Hooters (Buffalo wings - yummy! and wireless Internet!).

I checked in on Saturday evening. On Sunday, I was in and out all day. I got back for the evening around 10:30PM. I went to my room and tried my magnetic key card - it didn't work (unless making the red LED light up constitutes "working"). I figured that I had either demagnetized it (my personality tends to do that), or the hotel had e-changed the lock for some reason. I went down to the front desk to see what was wrong.

In short, what was wrong was that the hotel was staffed by inept people.

I gave my key to the desk clerk (rhymes with jerk, how convenient) and told him it didn't work. He said "you're not in room 213; I don't see you in the hotel at all." I spelled my name very clearly, several times. Nope, I was not a registered guest.

I gave him my key, asked him to check to see what room it was supposed to be for. He ran it through the reader, which said it was room 213. You're thinking "he must have thought 'how odd'" or something similar. Nope, nothing. No meaningful response at all really. The expression "slightly dumber than a rock" came to mind.

OK, that didn't work. I tried another tact. I asked "what happened to my belongings, they were in the room when I was last there?" He said "the maid reported clothes in there today, but we don't know who's they are nor how they got there." Still no signs of life in his eyes. Apparently it's a regular occurrence - finding belongings in unoccupied rooms.

I asked "if I'm not there now, when did I check out? you didn't slip a bill under the door." He goes on to say "the last person in the room was Steven Baker, but he checked out four days ago." And still, there's no signs of life, no glimmer of comprehension in his eyes. Amazing, simply amazing. The maid cleans a room that in theory has been unoccupied for four days, reports finding clothes in it, but no one is curious as to where the clothes came from.

After much fumbling, typing and looking through records in the back room, he decides the only thing to do is to check me in (hopefully into room 213, as that's where my clothes are?). There's a bit more typing, and suddenly he looks up and exclaims "oh, I see, someone mistakenly said you were in 215!"

Well, now it all makes sense. You're not inept, you're a complete fucking idiot. I spelled my name for you at least five times when we began this ordeal, and at no time did you ever find me in any listing, and yet now, when you are going to check me in AGAIN, you find me misfiled? Tell me how that's possible? No, don't tell me, I don't care.