Ever been tempted by those $18-a-night hotel deals in Las Vegas?
There’s good news and bad news.
The good: They really do exist.
The bad: Sometimes, you really do get what you pay for.
Saw the deal for Palace Station on www.expedia.com and snagged it out of desperation.
Emailed a desperate plea to the hotel: We’re desperate locals, desperate to get a good night’s sleep; need a room for a week to work because toxic neighbors make it impossible to live in our apartment.
At check-in, repeated our plea to the reservation clerk: Desperately. Need. Quiet. Room. One week.
She smiled, kindly (or so we thought).
She gave us a number which suggested a low floor. We requested a higher floor, again repeating our plea for quiet.
“The rooms are all pretty much the same,” she said, smiling some more.
We were so sleep-deprived, we took the key and wandered off to search for the room.
Ground floor. Didn’t our mothers warn us, to never, never, never stay on the ground floor in a hotel?
But it was clean, comfy enough, and the renovated bathroom had an over-sized shower that was welcome after a long day.
Bed was a bit lumpy — no new mattresses in the reno budget, obviously — but fell asleep instantly.
Wakened not long after by arguing outside our window (thought for an instant we were back home, listening to the neighbors’ daily rants). Seems the outside wall we were facing was part of the parking lot.
More fighting. Then car engines revving. Then, best of all, retching — over and over and over again.
Ah, Vegas. It just gets better.
Slept less than at home. Stormed to the front desk at 5 a.m. to demand another room.
Whined that we must have had the worst room in the hotel, after requesting something quiet.
Too early for a manager, so a supervisor sighed, and gave us another room, one floor higher. Isn’t there a tower here?
She glared. Guess people paying $18 a night shouldn’t ask that.
“Relax!” she said. It sounded like a command. “Get some sleep!”
OMG … choked back the response we really wanted to utter.
Off to find the second room, only to learn it didn’t exist. The supervisor had penned a non-existing number on our room pass.
Dragged our sorry, over-tired bones back to the front desk. Found the manager, shook his hand — and used the oldest line people in his business hear: “Are we glad to see you!”
TOMORROW: Meet Joe, the nicest hotel manager we’ve met during this Sleepless in Las Vegas tour.