The second I walked into the reception, it was a circus. Some loud fight going on, and the receptionist straight-up slammed the phone in the face of the customer ahead of me. Real professional, huh? The room itself was a dumpâcockroaches crawling around, AC vent busted, and the damn thing wasnât even cooling. Bedsheets and blanket? Covered in stains of God-knows-whatâlooked nasty enough that I didnât even want to guess.
My key card stopped working on second day.So I went down, and it did not work, so, went back again, and the genius at the desk actually says, âI said 321, not 221.â Lady, are you high? There isnât even a damn third floor in this dump for a â321â to exist. I wanted to ask if sheâs brain-dead, cross-eyed, or just plain useless, but Iâd just had surgery and didnât have the energy to argue with a walking headache.
Bottom line: that lady shouldnât be anywhere near a front desk. Sheâs the last person who should be representing any kind of hotel/motel.