The Hilton Lauderdale, submitted by a travel industry friend: I found all sorts of treasures under my bed last night: Wadded up gum wrappers, pistachio shells, and what appears to be a (POOP)stain on the carpeting. It was like sleeping on top of a dumpster. I was just waiting for a raccoon to poke its head out.
Steve Jones put it best; anything more than a spoonful? Err on the side of puke. The Hyatt/Minneapolis, December 2011.
Now, since there’s an Italian restaurant in the hotel, it’s entirely possible that someone tripped bringing room service through the door. But since I have an active imagination, I’d prefer to think it was a mob hit. Witness in hiding get a knock at the door, looks through the peep hole and BANG…an ice pick takes them out. An airport hotel at DFW.
To paraphrase Flight Attendant X’s earlier assumption, “If it’s in the hall, it’s probably puke”. An airport hotel near O’Hare.
To paraphrase William H. Macy’s character from “Wag The Dog”: I know there are three things to be true – there is no such thing as good flan, there is no war in Albania, and there is never such a thing as a good white crusty spot next to a hotel bed. To this, Marky Mark would most assuredly add, “Word!” A Best Western in Ontario
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