Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! I hope you all, regardless of relationship status, are enjoying this day for what it’s really about — eating a shitload of chocolate things. I left mine at home today, so I will have to pine for my Milano cookies until I get back from work at five thirty.
Onto the important stuff — I had a disastrous Valentine’s Day weekend! Now, no one died or anything, but it was a monumental waste of money, and I’m about to tell you why.
Last year, for our first Valentine’s Day together, my boyfriend and I went to the Raleigh Marriott City Center. (Yes, I am using names, because I am so absolutely pissed about this weekend that I want people to know what a terrible hotel it’s become in the past year.) It is an absolutely gorgeous hotel, and because it was Valentine’s Day, we had an executive suite on the sixteenth floor with a beautiful view of the city, an incredible king size bed, and what can only be described as a SPECTACULAR bathroom. We also had dinner at the in-hotel restaurant Posta Tuscan Grille (also using their name and will explain) which was delicious. Absolutely everything was wonderful, it was romantic, and we could not wait to go back and do it again this year. We even made our reservation in December we were so pumped.
Returning to the City Center Marriott was a MISTAKE.
First debacle: On our way over there, my boyfriend (who had gone to the hotel to “set up”… he’s really cute.) told me that our reservations was in a “gray area” in the hotel’s computer system and that they were full, so the only room we could get was a room with two double beds. Um. No. I am not paying to stay in a hotel room that is not as nice as my bedroom at home. That is just not going to happen. So I got allllll fired up to go talk to management. When we got to the front desk, they said they had had a cancellation, and we were upgraded to a suite, one which we had originally reserved. Unfortunately, this one was on the sixth floor, not the sixteenth floor. But whatever, I could deal.
Second debacle: As we made our way to our room, we realized why they said the hotel was full. For some reason, Raleigh was hosting a cheerleading competition on Valentine’s Day weekend, and about four hundred girls from age five to fifteen were using the entire hotel as their personal playground. It was miserable. Everywhere you turned, there were screaming girls. Not my idea of a romantic V-day weekend.
Third debacle: We went downstairs to the Posta Tuscan Grille (I hate you) around eight thirty for dinner. Keep in mind, while last year we got the chocolate covered strawberries and champagne package, this year we got the package that included twenty-five dollars (or roughly the equivalent of half a meal) to the restaurant. So we walk up to the hostess and ask for a table for two. It’s not like I’m asking for a kidney, right? Wrong. Apparently, even though there were quite a few empty tables, they were only seating reservations because it was a popular night for couples on Valentine’s Day weekend. UM, HELLO, WHAT DO YOU THINK WE ARE? So I ask if we can make a reservation for thirty minutes from now, and they say no. Then they tell us not to worry — we can sit at the (goddamn) bar and still order food off the menu. Needless to say, I was not happy. I downed a glass of Prosecco that cost me ten dollars.
Fourth debacle: My boyfriend had been noticeably raving about the pork chop he had last year. I think he was more excited to eat it than he was to spend time with me. This year? His pork chop ended up having no seasoning and was basically just a piece of meat. I felt so bad for him that we switched dishes, and he had my chicken. He was not pleased.
Fifth debacle: After a calming-down stint upstairs in our room, we returned to the bar downstairs for some cocktails. Because they didn’t serve frozen drinks (fail), I asked for hot chocolate with Bailey’s. Turns out, they do have hot chocolate, only the machine wasn’t working. Of course it wasn’t. That’s how my night went. So I asked for a Shirley Temple with vodka. Easy enough, right? Apparently not, because she put in about three shots of vodka, a little grenadine, and I’m almost 100% positive she screwed up and put water in it instead of Sprite. The only word to accurately describe how it tasted is ‘godawful.’ It was the most foul, disgusting, cough-syrupy thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of having. I was pissed that it would probably cost me eight bucks for this monstrosity, but I was too defeated to complain. After my boyfriend pestered me, I sent it back, and the bartender put it in a bigger glass with a lot more Sprite and it was mildly drinkable. Then we just gave up and went to bed.
Sixth debacle: Imagine you just had one of those nights where you’ve spent a TON of money you shouldn’t have, you went to bed late, and just generally want to die. Then imagine a hundred cheerleaders are walking up and down the halls outside your room, talking loudly and stomping all over the place. And then imagine all of that is happening at seven forty-five in the morning. On a Sunday. Tell me you don’t want to kill yourself, because I definitely did. (I wanted to counter them by making loud sexy-time noises, but I was too tired and angry.)
We were going to try to do late check out, but at that point, I just wanted to get out of the hotel and into my bed. So thanks, Raleigh Marriott City Center for wasting three hundred of my boyfriend’s and my dollars and giving me a really terrible stay at your hotel. You can bet we won’t be coming back. You can also bite me.
I hope all of you have a fantastic day today! And remember, EAT CHOCOLATE!
Found you through Rachel Wilkerson….
LORD HAVE MERCY, ask for your money back!! Write corporate! Call the manager! Freak out until you get comped or refunded!
I know, I know, I need to. And I briefly looked for how to get in touch with corporate, they’ve just been nearly impossible to find. I’m still pissed enough that I’ll forge on, though. Because seriously, that was UNNECESSARY.