Regan
Where do I begin? Check‑in was fine, and the room seemed okay… until we discovered a dirty washcloth left behind. Charming, I know. But we remained optimistic—surely things would improve, right?
Well, staying on the bottom floor gave us the unique experience of learning what it must sound like when someone keeps a full‑sized horse in the room above. Every. Single. Night. And as a bonus, the upstairs TV ran at full blast until morning. Delightful.
Returning one evening, we were greeted by a hooded individual perched on the curb, smoking away and making no effort to acknowledge us—or to keep the smoke from drifting directly into our open door. The ambiance was… let’s call it “creepy chic.”
As for room service, we were told that weekly guests get housekeeping every three days. Reasonable enough—except the room was never serviced. Not once. We became regulars at the front desk just to secure fresh towels. At this point, we practically worked there.
Now, breakfast. Or “breakfast,” depending on how generous we’re being. Items were frequently out, understaffing was obvious, and we had the pleasure of asking for basics like orange juice. The apples looked like they’d been on a slow journey toward mummification. And the waffles? The mix varied between the consistency of peanut butter and the clarity of tap water, depending on the day. A true adventure in breakfast engineering.
The staff we did interact with were polite, though identifying them was another matter—no uniforms, no name
Well, staying on the bottom floor gave us the unique experience of learning what it must sound like when someone keeps a full‑sized horse in the room above. Every. Single. Night. And as a bonus, the upstairs TV ran at full blast until morning. Delightful.
Returning one evening, we were greeted by a hooded individual perched on the curb, smoking away and making no effort to acknowledge us—or to keep the smoke from drifting directly into our open door. The ambiance was… let’s call it “creepy chic.”
As for room service, we were told that weekly guests get housekeeping every three days. Reasonable enough—except the room was never serviced. Not once. We became regulars at the front desk just to secure fresh towels. At this point, we practically worked there.
Now, breakfast. Or “breakfast,” depending on how generous we’re being. Items were frequently out, understaffing was obvious, and we had the pleasure of asking for basics like orange juice. The apples looked like they’d been on a slow journey toward mummification. And the waffles? The mix varied between the consistency of peanut butter and the clarity of tap water, depending on the day. A true adventure in breakfast engineering.
The staff we did interact with were polite, though identifying them was another matter—no uniforms, no name
