Like a bad 80′s sitcom

by statia on November 3, 2007

Everyone has their own little definition of what they call hell. I think yesterday, was my own rendition of what it would be like to be in the fiery pits of hell. Where you either laugh, or else you’d probably be in a ball in the corner, sobbing. It’s one of those stories that you probably wouldn’t believe it if you heard it, because seriously, no one can have that many things happen to them in one day, unless it was formatted with commercials and fit into a 30 minute segment of time.

We were in DC for the past few days, the Meester’s father was on the right coast for a conference, so we figured we’d meet up with him and his step mother. No big deal, I like the DC area, and it’s not too far of a drive. We settled on a pretty sweet hotel about a mile from where the Meester’s father was staying. We’ll call it the “Rorge”. As in what Astro calls his master on the Jetson’s. I think you can figure it out from here.

The Rorge was nice, clean, kinda funky modern. Beds not all that comfortable, but the staff was extremely courteous and friendly. And they were quick to address any concerns or issues. We were supposed to stay until Saturday (dur, that would be today), but the Mini is cutting a tooth, and is cranky and probably pissed off that he wasn’t at home, so we figured we’d head home on Friday instead. We pack everything up, check out and wait for the concierge to bring our car around.

And wait, and wait, and wait and, “what kind of car did you say you had again?”

Me: Say what again?
Hotel Manager: Oh your car is fine, don’t worry, we just can’t find the key.

And that’s only the beginning. Our day can be summed up by saying. Chicken, this is your head cut off, now go fetch. After about an hour and a half of looking, calling every employee ever staffed at the “Rorge”, and body cavity searching everyone within a 20 mile radius, the conclusion was that our key fob was gone. *poof* Now, the fact that we have a cranky teething baby, who at this point was throwing tantrums because he was hungry and our formula and baby food reserves were pretty much nil (and our extras were secured safely in the car), I think we both remained pretty calm. Our only choice at that point was to visit the adjoining restaurant, where all the working professionals were starting to trickle in for a nice quiet lunch. A lunch that probably didn’t include a screaming baby. In the meantime, the hotel manager was calling her Volvo dealer to see if we could get a new key made up for us so that we could be on our way. And the concierge was very nice to go and get us some more formula.

The hotel manager comes back to tell us that a new key will take 7-10 business days to have made, so we’re going to pay for you to get a rental car and your lunch, and formula, and a fedex envelope for us to overnight her our other key so that she can personally drive our car back, and don’t worry, it’ll be safe in our parking garage. In the meantime, let us put you back into a hotel room until we get all of this sorted out.

But it gets better.

We get our rental car, where of course the attendant gives us this nod, like “that’s yo car over there, and what do you want one of them baby seats fo anyway? They didn’t tell me nothin’ about no baby seat foo.” (and why yes, I am stereotyping) So we get a sketchy looking baby seat that has no attachment pieces and is flopping around, and we promptly call the hotel manager and tell her that she will be promptly calling a locksmith because over my dead body am I putting my child in this death trap.

And then we wait some more. At this point, it only makes sense to leave during the Mini’s bed time, because I’m not sitting in traffic on a Friday night. (haha asshole, you sat in traffic anyway). Once everything is said and done, we figure we’d hang out at my in laws hotel and get some dinner while my extremely cranky child further melts down.

No one ever said I didn’t know how to party.

We leave without further incident, and get into Pennsylvania, only to arrive home to realize that our god damned garage door opener is in the car, which is securely located in a fucking parking garage in DC, and this is the one time that the Meester decided it would be a good idea to lock the storm door. The one we never even carry a key to, because it’s a fucking storm door.

*bangs head on dashboard*

So we had to break into our own house.

But only after we called a locksmith.


Our entire stay after all of this was comped.

{ 17 comments }

Suz November 3, 2007 at 6:48 pm

Holy crap! I’m glad the stay was comped. It was the least, the very, very, least, they could do.

Shanna November 3, 2007 at 7:13 pm

Wait…how’d you get home in the end? I mean, carseat-wise?

And: youch.

Lisa November 3, 2007 at 7:38 pm

I’m confused. They didn’t get a locksmith to break into your car? Or was the locksmith for something else? Or did they just find a reasonable car for you guys to drive back home in?

Jenn November 3, 2007 at 7:44 pm

I think we’re related. I thought that kind of stuff only happens to me.

donna November 4, 2007 at 6:15 am

I simply cannot believe that it would take the Volvo dealer 7-10 days to get you a new key. That’s just ridiculous. If you lose your key, it’s obviously a damn emergency and you can’t wait that long for a key. Crazy!

I’m glad you made it home without losing your mind comletely.

akeeyu November 4, 2007 at 6:30 am

Ditto about the Volvo dealer. WTF?

I’m assuming there’s a chip compatibility issue, but I once lost my car keys in an entirely different state, and it only took the dealership about six hours to cough up a new set of keys with coded chips. Of course, I had to have my car broken into and towed to said dealership, and MY GOD, those stupid coded keys are so expensive, but still.

Motel Manager November 4, 2007 at 7:05 am

I’m glad they comped the stay. Those people at the Rorge – they may be incompetent, but at least they know it!

Chris Cactus November 4, 2007 at 8:17 am

Wow. So, uh, good time in DC, huh? You should have let me know. You could have totally stayed with us – comped, of course. And a family friend of ours owns one of the local Volvo dealerships.

sarah November 4, 2007 at 10:03 am

Wow. Just Wow. You’re so right about it being the sort of story that sounds fictional until you’ve had it happen to you.

Camille November 4, 2007 at 11:35 am

oh wow. that stinks. there’s got to be some kind of blessing in that…somewhere.

Meredith November 4, 2007 at 2:11 pm

Wow, is that a seriously sucky day. Hope you get the car back soon!

Helen November 5, 2007 at 3:03 am

Wow. That was suckage of a whole new degree. The only thing missing was the cooler-carrying-the-liver getting lost.

Stella November 5, 2007 at 7:43 am

What is that movie starring Jack Lemmon? Whose character and wife go to NYC and EVERYTHING goes wrong? That. Is what your story reminded me of. Yikes.

Deltus November 5, 2007 at 7:49 am

My rule? Fuck valet parking. I will not allow my car, it’s parking, or the safety of my keys to be handled for minimum wage.

geeky November 5, 2007 at 9:28 am

Holy crap, dudes. But man, it’s nice the hotel comped everything. Seagate should take some service lessons from them, since they want me to PAY to have my faulty hard drive fixed.

robyn November 5, 2007 at 9:11 pm

I’m with Deltus. Holy crap is right!

Amanda November 6, 2007 at 7:16 am

That is so a scene from “The Out of Towners.” Sorry for the icky trip. Hope once you got home, everything was better. Do you have your car yet?

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