"One Deluxe Room...Beach Access"

E ighteen cramped hours in the car, with an overnighter at an "AAA Approved" pit stop in Florence. We rolled into historic St. Augustine, Florida at noon. Our vacation was about to begin for real. Just a few more miles to our hotel on A1A and then we could rest our weary bones. The ad on the Web had promised "a deluxe room, beach access, easy walk to downtown and free continental breakfast." And at a price-buster mid-week rate of only $59 a night! I couldn't wait! This was the first non-working vacation we had taken in years. And the weather was warm and sunny. I was pumped! Our first hint came when we had to turn right from the bridge. It seemed like we were driving forever. Downtown and the Historic district were clearly the other way. We were driving in the wrong direction. If this were an "easy walk" to the city, Shania Twain's opening act is Nine Inch Nails. We passed the beach on our left and turned west. I clocked 1 mile to the motel. The sign said: "Welcome to Worst Eastern (name changed to protect the innocent). Free HBO. Continental Breakfast. Beach Access." We were, needless to say, a bit dubious. There was a line at the check-in, so I strolled to the vending area to get a soda. They were all sold out. Things were definitely not starting out well. The lady at the desk reminded me of my high school Latin teacher with a mustache. "Welcome to Worst Eastern. Can I help you?" "I hope so. We have reservations." "Yes. Right here. Six nights. $59 plus tax. Room 102, around the corner to your left." "Mind if I look at the room first? My wife is very picky." "Suit yourself. Here's the key. We're totally booked and this is the only room available." "I see. We'll be right back." Room 102 was designated a "No Smoking room." I guess all other activities were allowed because it smelled like a cross between the men's latrine at RFK Stadium and a swamp gas lover's convention. The bed had a noticable depression in the middle. The TV brought in one station, badly. "The room is a little, well...disappointing." "It's the only one available. Take it or leave it. But I'm going to have to charge you if you cancel." "What about the beach access. I don't see the beach." "You have to drive 1/2 mile to the south, make a U-turn, go east at the traffic light and it'll be straight ahead. There's a $3 charge per person between the hours of 8 and 6." "That isn't really beach access to me. What about the easy walk to downtown?" "It's six miles north. A lot of people walk it." "Look, we wanted to be near the Historic District. You told us on the phone that you were near Downtown and you had easy beach access." "No one here would have told you that. You calling me a liar?" "Look. We're just interested in a nice, relaxing vacation. We really want to be able to walk to the Historic District. Could you transfer our reservations to another Worst Eastern in the Downtown area? I know there are two of them." "No way. We are all independently owned. Besides it's not safe in Downtown." "Not safe in Downtown St. Augustine? Who are you kidding?" "Are you going to check in our not. I have other customers waiting." "No you don't. The people behind us in line all left when they heard you arguing with us." "You were the one arguing with me." "All right. We've had enough. We're going somewhere else." "Suit yourself. This is St. Augustine's best location. People drive here all the time from Gainesville just to eat at the restaurant. I'm going to have to charge you." "Why? It's early afternoon. You'll have this room booked by dinner." "Company policy." "I want to speak to the manager." "I am the manager." The sad part is that this is a true story. They say that laughter is the best medicine. "Worst Eastern," are you listening?