Feb
6
Lyle’s Steakhouse, Part III
February 6, 2007 in Life of Brian
So the manager of Lyle’s Steakhouse, er, Atrium Suites calls for assistance. I can barely her speak into her walkie-talkie… “Psss psss psss angry psss psss psss pain psss psss psss in the psss psss psss. Hurry! Psss, psss psss.”
Someone will be right with you, sir.
The assistant turned out to be in the maintenance department. “What’s wrong with your room?” he asks and I lead him upstairs.
“I don’t smell anything,” he said with watering eyes and while holding his breath. “It… smells… fine… to… me! Gasp!”
Then I showed him the stained carpet, the evidence of leaking around the window and ceiling, showed him the carpet coming up in the corner. The lamps and tables that wobble.
“What sort of dump are you running here, Mr. Fawlty?!”
We go back downstairs and the staff agrees to let him escort me—room by room—to find one that is suitable for a human.
We started on the second floor. We went to five rooms and all either had an old air conditioner (he told me that I wouldn’t want a room with one of THOSE) or twin beds. One of the rooms we went into had water stains on the curtains and a table that was only standing because the couch was shoved into it and together, the wall and couch held it up. I’m not kidding.
Its like the Who had done a AARP tour and destroyed every room in the hotel one by one, night after night for eight straight weeks and no one noticed.
“Ah! What you want,” my escort said, “is a room on the forth floor. That’s where Alaska Airlines stays. Everything up there is new!”
So we go down to the lobby and ask for a room on the fourth floor. The manager shoots my escort a nasty look and all but does one of those mother things when you know you’ve been bad, really bad, because she uses your middle name. “There are NO rooms available on the forth floor.”
“Uh, ma’am,” I said as I pointed to the log sheet in my escorts hand. “I beg to differ. But there are some open rooms on his master list if you care to look.”
Tee hee!
She bit her tongue and asked if I liked any of the rooms on the second or third floors. After a bit we decided on a room and a rate that was acceptable.
Later that afternoon my wife walks in to find me packing.
“Brian, what is that smell?!”
“Well, it’s not me so we’re moving downstairs to a new room.”
Three rooms in two days. A new personal best.
The following morning I take a shower. The water doesn’t shut off. Again, I’m not kidding.
I get on my cell phone and make reservations at the La Quinta Inn a block down the road while my wife, in an effort to keep from packing and unpacking four times in two days, contacts the front desk. A few minutes later, my escort from the day before and another guy go into our bathroom to check on the problem.
“Sir, the problem with the bathroom is,” they say after careful observation, “is that the water won’t stop.” I could have told them that!
But it gets better.
In order to fix the shower, they would have to turn the water off on the whole floor and they didn’t want to do that at seven in the morning. So one of the guys strips down to his underwear and dives in. I wish I would have recorded the sounds eminating from the bathroom.
Clank, bang, whirrr. Clunk. “Hold this! Hold this! The water is going everywhere! Oh crap!” Clank, bang, smash. “Let go! Oh my!” Boom, fizzz. “Dear God! I can’t see! I can’t feel my legs!” Bang, smash, THUD. “Hey! It worked!”
A few minutes later they emerged from the bathroom looking like teenagers caught in the backseat of an old Chevy.
I checked out the shower faucet and it worked so I cancelled my reservation over at La Quinta.
My wife was more relieved than the staff that they had resolved the plumbing problem.
(Continue on to Lyle’s Steakhouse, Part IV)
Tags: Atrium Suites, Fawlty Towers, La Quinta
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