Notice I didn't say "motel stories."
How ironic is it that I live in an apartment complex that looks like a motel, and I work at a hotel that also looks like a motel.
It's really just one small step up from motel status. Except for the suites, which are almost decent. The Presidential Suite looks sharp at first glance, but you can see the flaws without even looking too closely. The whirlpool tub was poorly repainted by the previous owner, and the new owners (who've had the place for over a year) have done nothing to fix it. It's the kind of thing that you'd look at and go, "Ew. I'm not sitting in that." Or the yellow stains on a wall near the front door. Or the slightly frayed carpet. Or the sagging couch cushions.
Sure, it's only $160 a night. It would go for 3 times that up in Tremblant. If all the shoddy details were fixed.
I wonder if I get half price on room rentals. The Presidential Suite would be a mean place for a party.
I do get half price on tanning services. Not that I'd ever close myself into a tanning bed -- not after seeing Final Destination 3.
So, here's a story that's even wilder than someone walking out with the safe.
Such a fine establishment I now work in!
Back in February, a guy rented a room. Then the police showed up and told the surprised front desk clerk that the guy was stashing a bunch of firearms. And possibly a bomb.
They evacuated the hotel and sent everyone far away. Like, across the street. And sent in bomb-sniffing dogs and everything. By the time the dust settled, it was 7 hours later.
Also? Today, when the manager was showing me the tanning room and how things operate, she noticed that the radio/CD player was... gone.
I said, "A guest with a sports bag?" and she shrugged and said, "Yup."
Classy place! Classy people!