Hell's Dells!!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Roadtrip Part V.... The dark days......

Submitted: September 17, 2006

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Submitted: September 17, 2006



Here is something you may or may not know:

A turtle can actually breathe through its backside.

Rather impressive, no?

In the past, I have been accused of talking out of my ass on more than one occasion, but to be able to confidently respire via one’s buttocks is certainly a neat party trick, to say the least.

I also discovered that Walt Disney had a morbid fear of mice, all polar bears are left-handed (which gives a whole new meaning to the term "south-paw") and that our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our noses and ears never stop growing. (Is THAT why my Great Grandma Henrietta looks like a cross between Jamie Farr and Dumbo?)

These amazing, if not a little disturbing, facts were brought to my attention whilst searching the net last night in the downtown district of Wisconsin Dells.

You might be wondering why, at such an early hour, such trivial issues would have me so engrossed.
Well, it’s not because of the fact that every time I turn on the TV, I have Dan Rather or Larry King talking to me in a high-pitched, female voice – in Spanish.
Nor is it because there is no heat in the hotel room and the mercury is just dipping below freezing outside, even at the end of April.

It’s definitely not because the shower is broken, resulting in a slow (but steady) drip, drip, drip - regardless of whether the water is turned on or off.

Even the occasional cockroach skittering under my makeshift desk is not the primary motivation for burying myself in such seemingly inane facts and figures.

No, I am currently pecking away at my computer in the wee hours, learning about how there are more plastic flamingos in the USA than there are real ones, because the occupants of the neighboring room are very busy executing the horizontal tango. Either that, or they are playing a friendly game of squash against the wall.

We have had a pretty good run as far as hotels go, and it was bound to end sooner or later.

I am not going to name names here, but if you happen to be passing through the delightful Wisconsin Dells area, make sure you take a pass at the Days Inn - the Days Inn on USA Highway 12, right next to the IHOP to be precise.

When you are travelling to lesser-known destinations with your partner, you get used to living in and out of suitcases. You also become accustomed to sharing the sugar sachet-sized shampoo packet (note: singular) and throwing the bedspread on the floor as your first order of business. (You KNOW they never wash those things.)

The wholesome Days Inn (in case you didn’t catch it before – 499 USA Hwy 12, right next to the IHOP) seems to think that, in order to enhance the adventure for hardy road warriors like ourselves, a different level of service is required.

When I say different level of service, what I really mean is ‘no service’.

I am not trying to sound ungrateful, but some things need to be told here.
On making the reservation, I was promised a comfortable room, with cable TV, and all the modern conveniences for a relaxing stay.
Wisconsin Dells is a famous tourist attraction, and from everything I had read, we were in for a very enjoyable time.

Needless to say, I was in very high spirits as we pulled in and saw the neon lights shouting “Free Internet Access” and “Heated Pool 24 Hours” on the billboard.
OK, a few of the letters had dropped off, so it actually read “Free Intern Access” and “eat Poo 24 Hours,” but again, I was certain we were in for some serious fun.

I suspect that the receptionist was perhaps having a bit of an ‘off’ day, as there was some mild confusion upon our checking in.
We were very patient when she told us that there wasn’t a reservation for “Emmett,” and even more understanding when she said that the only reservation she had left was under the name “Ommott.”

The threads of restraint started to erode when my husband pointed out to her that the “Ommott” reservation was, in all likeliness ‘our’ booking, and she responded that we didn’t look Turkish.

Instead of giving her a sound thwap over the head with my journal, I heeded my husband’s advice, smiled, and agreed to take the last room available: Room 151.

It became apparent to us that Room 151 at the Days Inn in Wisconsin Dells (please refer to the aforementioned address) must have been the inspiration for Jonathan Swift’s “Gulliver’s Travels.” The room was so small, that only the good, ‘little’ people of Lilliput could have really appreciated it.

In all honesty, it wasn’t so much the lack of heat, water, or the odd cockroach that bothered me, it was the false advertising of it all that really made my blood simmer.
We were tired from driving and ready for a relaxing evening in a warm, clean bed, watching the newest episode of the “Sopranos.”

Well, a fraction of our wish was fulfilled.
We got to see James Gandolfini, and he was certainly speaking in a “Soprano” pitch, it just wasn’t in English.

We shall be making hasty tracks from the ‘Days Inn’ at first light tomorrow, and I certainly will be paying closer attention to the signage/information of future hotels that we may consider as our “Home away from home.”

To that end, I have been utilizing the free time available to me (that is, until Romeo and Juliet have had enough next door) in order to research places that we should avoid.

Should you ever see signs, even closely resembling these, keep on driving:

1) Sign at a Parisian Hotel reception:
Please leave your values at the front desk.

2) In a Japanese hotel:
You are invited to take advantage of the chambermaid. 

3) Sign at a motel reception in Alabama:
Pay in cash, and we will ensure a clean and germ-free stay

4) In a hotel in Athens:
Visitors are expected to complain at the office between the hours of 9 and 11am daily.

Well, I might take a page from the hotel in Athens, and bring my complaints to the office at the Days Inn.
However, complaining between the hours of 3 and 5 am seems more appropriate, at this point in time.

Hell hath no fury than a Turkish “Ommott” who can’t have a shower!

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