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Newport and the Serial Killer Hotel

 So, last weekend my Fab Husband and I went to Newport, RI for a family wedding and checked into what I have dubbed the Serial Killer Hotel.

In our world, it was Columbus Day weekend (and our anniversary), and we were CC-free (thank you, in-laws!). In Newport, it was Oktoberfest and Special Fun Columbus Extravaganza, and the town was PACKED. When I called to make a hotel reservation for the wedding, the rooms that the bride and groom blocked were a two-night minimum, which wasn't possible for us. So I checked with a few other places, and found the same situation. And paying for two nights when we could only stay for one just wasn't an option.

So I went to the trusty Interwebs. Through Hotels.com, I found the Newport Spa Hotel. It had good ratings (averaging 4 out of 5 stars), was close to town, and boasted a shuttle that would schlep us around so we wouldn't even have to worry about cab fare. AND they let us make a reservation for Saturday night only. Huzzah!!

Oh, the huzzahs were short lived.

FH and I arrived, and I still had to shower before getting ready for the wedding. We should have known while we were standing in the lobby that something was amiss....the longer we looked at the decor, the more dated it became. And the door that lead down the halls to the rooms was made of plywood. Plywood, people.

Very Frazzled Desk Clerk took a 20-minute reservation phone call in the middle of checking us in. When she finally slid the keys over, we had approximately 55 minutes to get ready for the wedding. Husband snagged the bags, I grabbed my dress and bolted for the room.

When I opened the door...oh, god. OH GOD.

The room was barely larger than the queen sized bed. BARELY. The carpet was stained and sticky. Sticky. HOW DOES A RUG GET STICKY?! The bed "frame" was a piece of black lacquered molding nailed to the wall. The bedspread was thinner than my top sheet at home, and three wan pillows lined the top of the bed. I swear, the edges of one of the pillow cases was yellow. *throws up a little*

There was a mostly-empty Miller Lite can on top of another piece of black-laqcuered "furniture" (I use the word lightly). The ice bucket was filled with water--and lots of syphilitic amoebas, I'm sure. Instead of a closet, a bar stretched across an alcove opposite the bed. This was where one would hang one's victims before disemboweling them and making the carpet sticky.

Next to the bed was a bedside table. At first, I couldn't figure out what was so odd about it--again, more black lacquer--and then I realized: the cords that were laying across it were not connected to anything. There was a phone jack on one end of the cord, but no phone. We couldn't even call the front desk to complain (or for help).

The two chairs that were in the room (upholstered in prison stripes) were stained, and one was dotted with a crusty substance all along its back and arms. Blaarrrrggghhhhh! The small, high windows overlooked am enclosed utility closet/porch with exposed pipes and wires, which in turn had a view of the parking lot. This was where the serial killer would lie in wait when his victims tried to escape, only to drag them back into the hotel to finish them off.

And then there was the bathroom: moldy, mildewy, dirty goo stuck in the tile floor, and a faint brown stain in the tub.

I was supposed to sleep in this place? I didn't even want to take my shoes off!

FabHusband and I discussed our options: grin and bear it (and fumigate and debug when we got home), find another hotel and possibly eat the cost of the Serial Killer Suites, get ready at the Hotel of Horrors  and drive to my parents' house after the wedding. 

A desperate phone call to the Marriott next door revealed that they hadn't sold out for the weekend, and were more than happy to give us a room at a discounted rate for a single night. 

We bolted from the Stab Shack, and needless to say have been fighting them and hotels.com in an attempt to get a refund (each one says that the other is responsible for giving us our money back).

The moral of the story? will never, ever stay anywhere unless it's a national chain or recommended by a living human being with whom I am  acquainted.


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( 7 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 16th, 2009 03:04 am (UTC)
I once stayed in a hotel in NYC where someone had put down carpet in the elevator that extended halfway up the sides. It smelled like pee. For some reason the guy took me to my room. He went around turning on all the lights, only one of them turned on. "Mood lighting!" he announced in a cheerful accent. There were huge roaches skittering everywhere. The TV didn't work and the sink ran all night.

Oh, and it cost a lot and the front desk clerk was behind a bullet-proof window.
Oct. 16th, 2009 11:22 am (UTC)
OMG that sounds so disappointing and disgusting. Glad you were able to get into another hotel. I don't think I would have been able to even try to get reay in a place like that let alone have to sleep there. EEEK!

Your serial killer hotel room description was awesome though. LOL
Oct. 16th, 2009 02:34 pm (UTC)
Yikes! Glad you were able to escape.

Great description of the horrors of that room, though. I was right there with ya (unfortunately for me).
Oct. 16th, 2009 03:04 pm (UTC)
Oh dear. What an awful experience. But what a great blog. :-p
Oct. 16th, 2009 03:47 pm (UTC)
Yik! Glad you were able to find another hotel. Nothing skeeves me out more than a gross hotel room--it's like a Petri dish of bacteria.


Oct. 17th, 2009 04:50 pm (UTC)
What an awful experience. Glad you got out of there fast.

I think you should post your blog entry on hotels.com as a customer review.
Oct. 19th, 2009 03:04 pm (UTC)
I am so relieved to hear the Marriott saved you from the Stab Shack.

That totally reminds me of MY Newport B&B Disaster: also perpetrated by hotels.com, as a matter of fact. Remember? I booked us a room at a swanky inn right in town, only to discover that the inn had been booked to capacity for months and we shouldn't have been able to book a room at all. To alleviate my ire, both the inn and HatefulHotels.com conspired to send us to that OTHER B&B.

You know. The one that was essentially in some crazy lady's ranch house miles from town in a weird suburban neighborhood and was decorated a la Grandma's über-1970s Kitchy Cabin Getaway. Blerg.

So I fully support your moral!
( 7 comments — Leave a comment )


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