Swimmin Frog: A night at the brothel...errr... hotel.

Queenie made the reservations online… I say this only to set up the story, not to imply in any way that this mess was her fault.

She found a fabulous deal at a Aysday Innay (Pig Latinized so as to protect their reputation). For the low low price of $66 we could enjoy 2 double beds, continental breakfast buffet, swimming pool, WiFi and HBO.

They failed to mentioned in their outdated ad and photo spread that we could also enjoy black mold, urine stains, the smell of death in the elevator, prostitutes (just speculating), suspicious activity (I am thinking drugs) and a 1am fire alarm.

On these occasions, one would hope that her storytelling skills were enough (since she forgot the camera) to depict what I can easily say the worst hotel experience I have ever had sober. Yes, I have passed out a time or two in filth and dirty sheets… but, I never paid more than my share of the $29.95 these rooms cost. Also, that was college and high school. I am a sophisticated 30 something now.

Anyway, back to last weekend's hotel story... we arrive at the ~~Bates Motel~~ Aysday Innay around 11pm after driving for about 7 bazillion miles on a monotonous highway to Milwaukee to visit our family and its new addition. Q and I were both pretty much ready to have a glass of wine, crawl into clean white sheets and watch some cheesy movie until we fell into a blissful sleep.

We didn’t pay attention to the signs that could have warned us what lay ahead.

We didn’t catch on to the odd way the woman in front of us checked in stating that, “yeah, of course I know my way around the hotel.”

Or the subtle knowing look the kid behind the counter gave her when he handed her the key.

We somehow missed that there were padlocks on the doors of most of the rooms and there was a man aimlessly wandering around outside of the hotel.

Things didn’t start to really irk us until we stepped into the hallway and saw the circa 1960’s wallpaper with chunks of it peeling off and landing on the reddish orange stained carpet. We gave each other a look that said, “oh well, we're tired… so, they haven’t updated the décor... this isn't so bad.”

However, our looks turned to audible horror when we stepped into the elevator and our nostrils were attacked by a foul odor that was somewhere in the realm of feet, sour milk and death… death wearing garbage perfume. We put our heads into our shirts, but this wasn’t enough to fend off this attack and we started falling into a stink induced coma. Thankfully, the elevator dinged (more like clanked) at our floor.

When we turned the corner to go into our room, we nearly ran smack into a prostitute. I am only speculating here, but I am pretty sure I saw her on Cops last month. She sized me and Q up and realized we weren’t a threat and went back to her John. Again, this is just speculation… I don’t know what or who was in her room... could have been her pimp or drug dealer… just speculating.

After wishing our prostitute friend a good evening, we retired to our quarters where we were met with more fodder for this blog...

The bathroom ceiling with the mold….mold! Black mold!

The wall beside the commode (I say commode cuz I am so sophisticated):

Urine was on the wall…. Urine!

Since I forgot my camera, I had to rely on my Sleek Sophistacated Black Katana Camera Phone.

I apologize for the quality.

The beds... what can I say about the beds? Well, each bed had 6 pillows that ranged in size from lumpy large to board flat. They were arranged like books in sets of three on either side of the bed. The bedclothes were of the usual hotel floral pattern and had been folded down. I can only speculate that this was to either hide the cigarette burns or to let the bed bugs run free. I am not sure and at the time, I did NOT want to think about it much further.

After seeing where I was to lay my head for the evening, I did what any sophisticated gal in my position would do… I cracked open a bottle of wine and downed enough to create a purple haze of stupor around my head. Since there wasn’t enough wine in the universe to make me feel comfortable enough to lay my head on that lice infested pillow (only speculating), I wrapped my turtleneck around it and attempted to fall into restless sleep.

In the next bed, Q was laying on her sweatshirt covered pillow. Her bed had an extra challenge… it was worn out on one side and she was ready to slide out of it at any minute. I was just about to ask her if she needed some help when a piercing alarm went off in the hall.

Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooonk!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiil!

It was the hotel’s fire alarm.

Mass chaos ensued in the hallway as prostitutes, pimps, johns and a truck driving drug dealer or two ran out of their rooms. I was NOT leaving my room. Instead, I chose to peak out of the peephole into the hall to watch for any signs of fire or smoke. I heard one of the ruffians exclaim as he ran out of sight, “I don’think there is a fire at all. I am sure the fire alarm was pulled accidentally. We have to wait for the firemen to come to shut it off.” Since I had made up my mind to NOT leave my room, I was comforted by this statement.

Queenie and I did slip on our shoes and bras just in case we needed to be evacuated, but unless my jammies caught on fire and STOP DROP AND ROLL didn’t work…. I was NOT leaving my room. Instead I decided to peak out the window and take a picture

Around 1:45am the alarm was silenced by two fully uniformed firemen. The speculated illegal activity resumed and the little hotel on Blue Mound Drive was back to its harmonious normal. I started nodding off again. I did have to polish off a little more of the sauce and weep a bit for my cat, but eventually I was able to relax my head on my turtleneck covered pillow.

Meanwhile, Q took advantage of our WiFi to look for alternative lodging for the next night. As prostitutes and pimps were her witness...she would never stay in this dump again!