I stayed here last weekend, and let me tell you, the place looks great. Clean room, comfy bed, nice pool — everything’s picture-perfect. But the folks above us? I don’t know what they were doing up there. Sounded like they were building a deck, training for a tap-dancing marathon, and assembling IKEA furniture all at the same time.
We checked in around 2 PM. Fifteen minutes later—BAM, BAM, BAM! I thought Thor himself moved in upstairs. We went out for a bit, came back, and it was still going. I fell asleep somehow, but my poor wife? Wide awake. I wake up at 2 AM to the same banging and find she hasn’t slept a wink.
So I call the front desk. Sarah answers — sweetheart of a kid — tells me the group upstairs was drunk and causing trouble earlier. She says she’ll call and knock on the door. The noise dies down, but it’s like the Energizer Bunny: always comes back.
By 3 AM I’m calling again. Finally, silence. And I think, “Great! Peace at last.”
Next morning at 10 AM — BAM BAM BAM! It’s like they’re auditioning for Stomp up there. I call again and get told, “Well, it’s not quiet hours.” Terrific.
I go to the lobby during breakfast to talk to someone, and the lady at the desk hits me with a “not my problem” tone that could win a gold medal. I ask for a manager — guess what? No manager. I ask for a contact number — she acts like I’m asking for national security codes.
Monday I call the manager, Dre. Leave a message. Today is Tuesday. Still waiting. I’ve had Amazon packages delivered