I’m not a camping kind of girl. When I first met Isaac, I told him I loved camping. After we started dating, he quickly learned that my feelings towards camping were roughly on the same level as a trip to the dentist or a pap smear. They aren’t the worst things in the world, but I’d just rather not. I told him I loved camping for one simple reason: I wanted to spend a weekend alone in nature with the guy I was crushing on. The whole sleeping in a tent/getting filthy/outdoor allergies thing would just be an annoying inconvenience to our weekend getaway. That weekend getaway never happened, but I wanted to make sure the possibility was there.
I don’t like camping, yet I’d rather be zipped into a humid, pollen-caked tent right now than in this hotel. Isaac and I are out of town for a wedding and we had to get a pet friendly hotel because ALL of the hotels in this granola city are pet friendly. I’ve stayed at pet friendly hotels before and have been been okay, so I wasn’t too worried about it. This hotel, however, is not okay.
We walked into our assigned room after a mile long hike from the lobby and as soon as the door opened and my nose caught whiff of the situation, I looked at Isaac and simply said, “no.” Within 60 seconds of being in the room we were coughing, congested, and felt like we could taste the wet dog/urine aroma. It didn’t just smell like the house of someone who owns dirty dogs, no that would have been a drastic improvement. It smelled like the animal shelter on a hot day or the kennel we board Henri at, where I have to hold my breath so my lungs don’t shut down in protest. You just can’t cover up 50 years of dog piss.
We marched back to the lobby to request a room away from dog piss hall, as I named that wing of the hotel. The visibly frustrated man switched our room, and we prepared to again drag our luggage clear across the hotel. I also asked if the beds had feather pillows because I am allergic and the woman at the counter said “oh I’m not sure, great question. I hope not!” and went back to what she was doing. 5-star service here, folks.
This second room is nowhere near as bad as the first one, but it isn’t great. Isaac and I are doped up on Benadryl, Claritin, Flovent, Albuterol, and eye drops, and we are still slightly miserable. I have caught myself day dreaming about having an allergic reaction so I can be whisked away by ambulance to a clean, sterile hospital. I would sleep so soundly in their crisp white sheets and well ventilated rooms, dog piss hall a distant, horrific memory.
At 12:00 AM we discussed driving back home, even though we wouldn’t get there till 3:00 AM. That seemed too unbearable though, especially knowing we’d just have to come right back for the wedding tomorrow. Instead we showered, threw the feather pillows off the bed, stuffed our pajama pant pockets with tissues, and I prayed that I wouldn’t die in my sleep.
Two hours after passing out, we were awoken by the hotel’s fire alarm. For a minute, I wondered if God was answering one of my snarky prayers from earlier and was burning this nasty building to the ground. Hallelujah! No such luck, the fire alarm went off after a minute and Isaac and I each did a puff of an inhaler and went back to sleep.
We startled awake again 30 minutes later to the sound of an urgent, authoritative knock on our door. Oh, it’s a fireman waking us up at 3 AM, great. In my overly asthma medicated, groggy mind I thought, If Isaac ordered a stripper to spice up our weekend, he could have planned the timing a little better. Also, that equipment looks really legit. Why are we going to need an oxygen tank and an axe? So kinky!
Turns out he was a real fireman (still cute enough to be a stripper) and had to inspect our room and fire alarm to make sure this fine establishment in all of its dog piss glory wasn’t about to go up in flames. I felt terrible for him, you could tell he was so uncomfortable waking up hundreds of families, couples, businessmen, and flea-infested dogs. He was just getting started on what was sure to be a long, pointless night. I’m sure he’d rather be camping, too.
So here I lay with red, watery eyes and a whistling nose, typing out the last 12 hours that are almost laughable. I’m starving because my food allergies prevent me from easily accessing safe food when on a trip. My planned dinner and breakfast from the vending machine are impossible, they are all broken. Of course. What blows my mind the most is that this is a FOUR STAR hotel. It’s moldy, musky feel reminds me of the $35 Motel 6 I stayed in while on Spring Break in college. We found pubes in the sheets and our window had bars on it- but at least it didn’t smell like an animal graveyard.
I’m desperately trying to adjust my attitude and not bitch 100% of the time we are here. I don’t like to complain, but feeling trapped and possibly in danger because of allergies and an expensive weekend that turned into an eczema/allergy/asthma disaster sucks. I had to get it all out in one long, whining post and now maybe I can enjoy my weekend in the mountains.