Tales from the OKC, Part 2

Let's talk about lodging. More specifically, let's talk about the Bricktown Econolodge.

For starters, the "Bricktown Econolodge" is 1.5 miles from Bricktown. Nice little use of deceptive advertising. The taxi company (a monopoly) might as well send the Econolodge a thank you note for that.

If the "hotel" wasn't conveniently located in Bricktown, just where was it? Next to a truck yard.

Frat Boy Mike and I arrived on Thursday morning, checked in to our luxurious home away from home, and then walked around the building to our door. Upon sliding in the card and pushing with all our might against the sticky door, we were bombarded with a smell that rivals the odor emerging from the asscrack of Satan after he's been doing cardio in the fiery pits of Hell. FBM described the smell as "monkey shit." I have no idea what it actually was, and I have a feeling I don't want to know.

We entered the room, which could only have been decorated by a colorblind and mentally retarded person who had been locked in a basement since the 70s. The bedspreads were some ungodly baby shit shade of brown with a paisley pattern. The curtains incorporated that same horrific brown, adding some blue and tan stripes. Then! (This is my favorite part.) There were watercolors hanging above the beds. They were too small for the spaces and their frames were too light, not to mention the fact that they were shades of pink and purple, when the rest of the room was that terrible brown. If we looked to the right, there was a mirror hanging crooked on the wall next to the lamp with a lopsided shade.

As we admired the gorgeous accomodations, we left our door propped open with a suitcase. After all, we were still trying to get rid of the mysterious monkey shit aroma. We also had the curtains pulled open; even in a shithole, sunlight can be nice. Next thing we knew, a young Mexican ran past our door. Then another. Then a group of rough-looking men. Then some more. Then they paused outside our door while talking loudly.

Let's keep in mind that FBM and I were still trying to figure out why the hell we were in this place. As we noticed the people running by, we became more and more alarmed, until finally we sat frozen in place--as though the gang of hard-ass truckers standing outside our room would forget we were there if we didn't move. As soon as they ran along, we darted for the door, slamming it closed (as quickly as was possible considering the door needed some serious WD-40) and then attempting to deadbolt it. I think it's telling that our door had two deadbolts in addition to the standard chain lock. Unfortunately only one deadbolt was working.

Deciding we didn't feel secure and we wouldn't want to sit in the room all day even if we did, we began searching for something to do. The airline had decided to obliterate suitcase number two of the year, so I needed to buy a new one before traveling home.

We phoned the front desk to ask where we could buy a new suitcase. We were told that we might try the travel plaza across the street. Though skeptical about a trucker's plaza, we decided to try it. After all, it couldn't be any worse than staying in the monkey shit room with truckers running by the door.

Walking across the street, we entered a trucker's plaza, looking for a new suitcase. The prospect of success seems even more ridiculous now, as I type this, than it did at the time. Needless to say, we left the plaza still in need of a suitcase.

But, as we exited the plaza, it seemed that all hope was not lost. Indeed, there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. We had run into a shuttle van with our hotel's logo on the hood and sides. FBM approached the driver to ask whether we could get a ride into Bricktown.

We were referred to the phone number of another hotel. You see, the same company owned our hotel and the hotel located next door, so both logos were on the shuttle. We called the front desk (despite the fact that no one can get a Verizon signal in OKC) only to be informed that we could not receive transportation.

What!?

That's right. They put a hotel's name on a shuttle, fully intending to refuse service to patrons of said hotel. I asked whether we could get shuttle service to the hotel. No. Shuttle service to Bricktown? No. Shuttle service to the airport? No. No service for our hotel. Only the hotel next door. (Let us not forget that this is the same hotel where our pool was "conveniently located.")

Now pissed off, we returned to the hotel room. We called the cab company to get a ride into Bricktown. They, of course, needed an address for the hotel. We provided the name of the hotel and the address on our room phone, but the cab company's operator read back a different address. We repeated the address we had provided. The cab company's operator read back the same different address. It was not until we left the building to get in the cab that we realized there was a different address on the front of the building than on the room phones.

What kind of hotel doesn't know its own address?

My little sister was supposed to accompany us to this fine establishment, but was injured by a piece of shit less than one week before our departure. FBM summed it up best: "Maybe it's a godsend she didn't come. You know, maybe it's better to get hit by a chair than a bullet."

Moral of the story: If you must go to Oklahoma City, stay the hell away from the Bricktown Econolodge--and any other trucker's haven in disguise. Trust me.