The Shatner commercials were cool, but that’s the extent of my praise for them.
Actually in fairness I’ll add this: I once nabbed two rooms for under $50 each, surcharges included, at the Marriott Marquis in Atlanta by using Priceline. The other rooms I’ve gotten through them have been more “eh”- decent price, but nothing to brag about. But I will never use them again.
I recently drove to Washington D.C. to attend a conference. I took with me a male friend (gay, but platonic- the relevance of that will be explained). I decided Roanoke, Virginia was a reasonable place to spend the night, so I used Priceline to book a room.
For those who aren’t familiar with Priceline, you “name your own price” and if they find a hotel willing to accept that price, they buy it. If they do find a property willing to accept your bid, then they automatically book it- you have no option in the matter.
I booked a room with 2 double beds and non-smoking (I’m a smoker, but my traveling companion isn’t, so I thought I’d be considerate). They told me they had a room at a 2.5 star hotel (think most Best Westerns or Holiday Inn Express quality) and, with purchase price and surcharges the total came to $65. I’ll identify the hotel (actually a motel) only as this one.
I made no secret of the fact that I was going to be late, but the room was pre-paid, no biggie. I arrived later than expected, about 2:30 a.m., and had to wait, LITERALLY, about 30 minutes for the night clerk to answer the door to the lobby. Had the room not been prepaid I would have ridden on.
When he finally arrives I give him my name and he hands me the key envelope. I’ve already been checked in. I go to the room and
1- it’s not only smoking, but MAJORLY smoked in- this is evidently where Roanokites come on their work break to smoke- the room absolutely reeks: I’m a smoker and couldn’t stand it
2- it’s one (1) Queen sized bed
So I went back to the office. Five minutes later he lets me in again and I ask if he has a room with 2 double beds. I still can’t believe what he said:
“Yeah… but I just started working here and don’t know how to switch you.”
“Well, I worked in hotels for years and years, perhaps I can help…”
“Nah. I don’t want to try cause if I mess up I get in trouble.”
Fuckin’ fine. It’s about this time I notice the rates on the place- this was a Friday night, and they have a weekend special that, with tax, is about $58, LESS than I got the room for through Priceline. So let’s count the ways I’m pissed, but it’s just beginning.
The sign said free wireless access. I tried to log on using my PDA and needed a password, so I called the desk and after the 817th ring, Sir Isaac picked up the line. I asked for the password. “Uh, I just started here… I don’t know it.”
Yeah, you wouldn’t want to trust a new employee with information that vital. The very security of Roanoke could be compromised.
“Well since I have you anyway, can you give me a wake-up call?”
“Yeah.” Click.
HE HUNG UP THE FUCKING PHONE!
So I call back- “About that wake-up call… how about 9 a.m.?”
“OkAy.”
So I called it a night and bedded down in the same bed with my platonic travelling companion, each of us afforded a pillow of approximately the same age and thickness of the shroud of Turin. Not convinced that Sir Isaac was equipped to set a wake-up call (which, no surprise, it turned out I was right) I set the alarm clock for 9:15.
There was no wake-up call. I woke up about 10:15 a.m. because of the maid knocking on the door (I’d been up til about 4 so neither of us were set to rise at dawn) to hear the alarm clock playing at about 3 decibels, which it turned out was as loud as it blared. I asked the maid to return later and we took our respective showers and did our respective packing. While my roommate was getting ready I returned the keys and got the final receipt from the morning clerk, a bastard daughter of a coalmining woman and Kukla’s partner Ollie. Time: 11:00.
I return to the room and the maid is standing at the door practically salivating. I told her “we’ll be out in just a moment”. Well, in defense of the housekeeper my roommate uses more facial products than your average Pharaoh on NILE FLOOD DAY and wasn’t finished yet, though I told her she could come on in and strip the beds or whatever, we’d be out in a moment. The phone rang and the less than pleasant bas-Ollie said “It’s five after 11. Checkout’s eleven.” I told her “Yes, we’ll be out in just a moment.”
LITERALLY TWO MINUTES LATER SHE CALLED BACK. “I thought you said you were almost out. I need to send maintenance to that room and I need you to leave or I’m gonna charge you for another day.” I started to tell her "I’ll be out before you can spell ‘eat me raw you pockmarked bowlegged bewhiskered daughter of a $3 all the cum you can guzzle gutter whore and the 60s puppet icon who pimped her’ but changed it to “I’ll be out before… you can call again.” By this time it’s still not 10 minutes after check out time and the only thing I’m waiting on is my roommate to get his contacts in- bags are in the car everything.
Then I hear the maintenance guy right outside the door ask the maid “Are those two queers still in there?” to which she answers “Yep”.
Okay, I’m in Virginia and I’m unarmed and on a time schedule, but even so I rode out to do battle. My roommate, much younger and perhaps more diplomatic than I am, caught me by the shoulder and said “Fuck it, let’s just go. You can write a letter when you get home.” So we left, though I did drive by my the office slowly and when bas-Ollie looked out the window stuck my tongue in my otherwise platonic roommate’s ear.
So… when I next checked e-mail I had one from PRICELINE asking me how content I was with my stay. I checked the appropriate boxes and then unloaded all of the above (minus the bas-Ollie and profanity and bit about the tongue) into the comments portion of the e-mail. I told them, politely, I would never again use PRICELINE or EXTENDED STAY. I assumed that, especially due to the queer comment, they would respond with at very least an apology or preferably a discount on my next use, for I certainly would do so for a customer who’d had this experience.
That was two weeks ago and the fucks haven’t done so much as ring a bell and say “SOORRRRRY!”, which really pisses me off.
So the point is that PRICELINE can Fuck itself. And don’t do drugs.