It all started two months ago when I tried to book a room at Atrium Suites in Las Vegas. I was going there to attend an internet marketing conference hosted by Carl Galletti.

I logged onto their website and it said that they were out of rooms.

Since I had never heard of Atrium Suites and I have been going to Vegas since 1990, I figured that something was wrong with their registration system. There was NO WAY they could have been so popular as to be booked solid two months in advance.

Sure enough, a quick call to the switchboard confirms my suspicion. They had plenty of rooms. Enough to hold a conference there.

Pshaw!

Anyway, when I arrive at the hotel I get in line behind a lady complaining that her phone doesn’t work. She is told that they are aware of the problem and are working on a solution. The lady at the counter looks past the complaining lady and asks if I am ready to check in. “Yes! Thanks,” I say as the lady in front of me huffs off.

“Your room is on the sixth floor, Mr. Robinson.”

There are two elevators and the building is six floors high. I push the button and three minutes later one of the elevators opens it’s doors and whisks me to the top floor. When I get out I notice that the carpets have more stains than a living room couch in Chatsworth.

My room was at the end of a hall and upon entering I was hit by a pungent wall of cheap room deodorizer. That stuff would make Lysol smell like Calvin Klein purfume in comparison.

Figuring the odor would disapate, we spent the night. But by morning, the room smelled like a wet dog… a wet dog in heat, actually. We packed up our belongings and I went downstairs to complain… I would have called by the phone wasn’t working.

After a few minutes of trying to explain what the room smelled like they gave me the key to another room down the hall from my first room to make it easier for us to move. I asked if they had a bellman and they said not today.

I was beginning to feel like this was Fawlty Towers!

I inspected the new room and while it didn’t smell, there were stains on the carpet, plaster covered fist holes in doors and wobbly tables and lamps in abundance. Reluctantly, we moved down the hall to this new room.

I went to the marketing conference while my wife unpacked.

Lunch break came and my pal Jim Lodwig asked if I wanted to grab a bite somewhere. I suggested that we eat at the hotel because its close. “Are you sure that you want to do that, Brian? There aren’t a whole lot of people in there… in fact, we’ll be the first!”

We have a seat and are given paper menus. Jim has the club sandwich and I have the tuna. Neither of us get refills on our drink and I put the tab on my room hoping that they can’t find me in their computer system since I switched rooms earlier in the day.

A few hours later I go up to my room to take a nap.

WHAM! There that smell is again! Wet dog in heat and this time the dog smelled like it crawled out of a scum covered Everglade swamp.

I go downstairs looking for heads to put on spears at the edge of town.

The clerk behind the counter in on the phone. A personal call. I can hear her asking what time the show starts. Cool. Is he going too? Cool…

I count to ten but it’s no use. The transformation has begun. David Banner is fading away and I’m turning green, cloths ripping, muscles bulging… Can’t. Stop. Transforming… aaaRRRGGGHHH!

Just then the manager came out. I think she was going to intervene but when she saw my bloodshot eyes and rendered clothing she called for an assistant.

(Continue on to Lyle’s Steakhouse, Part III)

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