Let me begin with the good news: the staff are truly kind people. And maybe the other rooms are perfectly fine. But then there was Room 11, which felt like it existed in its own ecosystem.
The moment I opened the door, I was greeted by a smell so strong it should have come with its own backstory. Mold? Mildew? A mysterious third thing? Hard to say. Whatever it was, it was powerful enough that when I got home, I had to wash everything I brought with me. Room 11 was determined to send its scent home as a souvenir.
I tried switching the heater/AC to “dry,” hoping it would exorcise the odor, but I was unsuccessful in my attempt. The windows didn’t open, probably for the sake of the outside world.
The rug? Oh, that thing has seen things. Someone really needs to pull it up and send it to a lab.
The bathroom also had its own sense of humor. One of the floor tiles wiggled like it was trying to escape. The shower shelf was broken, so I had to balance all my products like I was performing in a shampoo circus. And there was so much soap scum in the corners I’m convinced some of it had tenure.
The overhead light flickered nonstop, giving the room the vibe of a horror movie and a comedy sketch at the same time.
I wondered if I was being dramatic… but then I remembered that breathable air and floors that stay put really shouldn’t be luxury features.
Maybe the other rooms are fine—honestly, I hope they are—but Room 11? Sweet mercy. Pull. Up. That. Rug.
And yes, I do have pictures.
