Hotel SplendidoEnzyme writes, "what about awful hotels, B&Bs, or friends' houses where you've had no choice but to stay the night?"
What, the place in Oxford that had the mattresses encased in plastic (crinkly noises all night), the place in Blackpool where the night manager would drum to the music on his ipod on the corridor walls as he did his rounds, or the place in Lancaster where the two single beds(!) collapsed through metal fatigue?
Add your crappy hotel experiences to our list.
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chthonic, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 16:05)
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EVIL FUCKING STUDENT DIGSAberdeen in the middle of the oil rush c. 1975 - 26 (YEP, TWENTY-SIX!!!!) of us in a single house with rooms divided up into 3rds by thin painted lining board so that we could all be in bunk-bedded rooms and supposedly only sharing with one other.
The night's sleep was usually broken as unmarked lorries backed into our yards to unload what we did not know what into heavily padlocked garages and every morning a fag-smoking cook with a filthy rose-patterned pinny (despite being a bloke) and dirty fingernails made bacon and eggs which allowed the cunt who was exploiting us for 10 pounds a head each week (a fortune in 1975) to say it was bed and breakfast and charge more. The eggs were sometimes green - really fully snot green, I shit you not.
When I exposed this little bastard in the letter's page of our student newspaper (in my first ever term at Uni) I was met at the front door that the very same night by our friendly landlord. His left hand had a baseball bat in it and I was encouraged to pack and leave that very minute despite having no where to go and having paid a week in advance. I think he said something like "Fuck off or die" to me as I fled the courtyard.
Mrs Harkess student accommodation officer who let all this happen at the time despite my complaints - je accuse.
Hope you are sucking cocks in hell you wizened old colluding bag. Or better still painfully clinging to life, colostomy bag smelling and with no-one to help change it as you dribble down your chin.
I'm not bitter me.
Share my pain and click 'I like this' to help me get over it all. Fuck I was only 16 at the time too!
PS The worst thing about it all was - and I just remembered this having blanked the horror out from all those years ago - my fecking room mate being all broody for his school girlfriend and playing the slow side of Rod Stewart's Atlantic Crossing time and time again cos it was "their songs". Perhaps getting kicked out was a blessing now I think of it.
(, Fri 18 Jan 2008, 0:46, Reply)
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