[img]1325|left|Alex Campbell ||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — Last weekend H and I went to New York City. We needed a cheap place to stay—no way we were going to pay $800 for what was essentially one day in the city. A friend recommended a place. The price was right, so we made a reservation online for Friday night.
We left Boston at 6 in the evening and hit horrible traffic. Twice on the highway, three lanes were narrowed down to one. We inched along, whiling away the hours with ‘70s funk blasting through the speakers. An hour before we reached our destination, the car’s defroster fan broke. No heat, no a/c, no air. The windshield fogged up, and we had to open the windows to clear it. It was freezing.
We finally arrived at 2 a.m., relieved, exhausted, and glad to check in. The guy behind the front desk took my credit card, then told me that he had cancelled our reservation because we didn’t show up or call by 6 o’clock, and they thought we weren’t coming. Say WHAT? I can’t remember exactly what my response was. Maybe something like, “What?” or “Excuse me?” I know I mentioned the traffic. Front Desk said, “All it takes is one phone call!” This was not some bed-and-breakfast with four rooms in a quaint little town; this was a chain. Nowhere did it say that one had to call after 6 to say you were going to be late. In fact, I believe the paperwork actually said that if you arrive after 6, your credit card would be charged. I was mad.
There was a guy standing at the desk who was talking to Front Desk in a language I didn’t understand. I didn’t know if he worked there, or was a friend, or what. I gave him a surprised look, then smiled, as if I understood him. He shut up right quick. FD said he would give me another room because I was special. I was so tired I didn’t feel like making a scene, so I just bantered back and forth with him for a minute till we got our key cards. Our room had a bed; that’s all I wanted. The bonus was a continental breakfast.
The room was fine, a place to lay our heads. We were up mid-morning the next day and went down for the last half hour of breakfast. What an international event! The predominant language we heard was Russian, and there was some French and Spanish. We saw the couple we met at the desk the night before. After we had griped about our long journey, I had asked the guy where they were from. California. I felt so local.
The best part of breakfast was the doughy bagels. Nowhere on earth is like New York City if you want to have a good bagel. A free bagel, complete with hot water for the tea I brought from home? Like icing on the cake. We also had our choice of Froot Loops and sugar-infused Raisin Bran, yogurt sweetened with aspartame, and coffee that “did the job,” according to H. I didn’t care about all the other things available, I just wanted my bagel. It made the kerfuffle with Front Desk worth it.
The next night of our stay was uneventful. Breakfast was great, despite the table shortage. Every time someone pushed a chair back to get up, a loud screech coursed through the dining area, like an old trolley going around a corner. You had to move fast to get a table, and leave something there to secure your place when you retrieved your bread from the toaster.
At checkout time, we were overcharged. I pointed it out, and the charge was removed, but we were overtaxed. We made the decision to let go of a few bucks and just beat it out of there, hoping our car would make it home. We made it home in four hours. No one cancelled our room, we didn’t need to reserve an appointment with a dentist after breakfast, and we were charged the correct amount for the rent this month. It was good to be back home. But I did miss the bagels.
Ms. Vaillancourt may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
