Not the Worst Hotel
Like all people, I prefer it when things go my way. There have only been two exceptions. When my husband Dave, and I were just friends, we liked to go out to eat and complain that our love interests weren’t working out. We often went to JB’s. It’s about the equivalent of Dennys. So, we’re not talking about super high expectations, but it amused us that something would always go wrong. We’d be served the wrong dish, or not be given silverware, or the burger would have no meat patty. We’d have fun betting on the outcome. But one night, the stars must have aligned. We were seated right away, the server was fast and got the order right. The food was delicious, and our glasses were kept full. What was going on? This wasn’t what we came for! Depressed, we picked through our meals. “Well, if the food is actually going to be good” Dave sighed, “I may as well have a piece of pumpkin pie.” It arrived promptly and looked perfect. “Here goes,” he said picking up the fork. CLUNK went the fork. The pie was frozen solid. Happily, we took the pie home. All was right in our world.
It wasn’t until recently that I again went out of my way to have another bad experience. While planning a trip to Amsterdam, I found ‘The Worst Hotel in the World’. Really. That’s how it promotes itself. Officially it’s called the Hans Brinker Hostel. I didn’t think it could really be the world’s worst hotel. Surely that’s got to be some crime infested shack in a slum somewhere, or else it’s that place in Las Vegas where we stayed once. But this place claimed to have noise, mosquitos, and probably stains on the sheets. How could we pass that up? Dave was enthusiastic as well, “I guess so, if you really want to go,” he said. So I booked us for one night in an eight-person shared dorm. It wasn’t until after I had paid that I saw the message asking that those under 18 or over 40 not stay at this hotel. HEY! No fair! I quickly emailed the hotel, explaining that although we might be technically a little over 40, we were there for adventure and would not be complaining about anything. I never got a response. I figured bad customer service was a good sign and kept my fingers crossed.
Luckily for us, when we arrived, the girl at the front desk also didn’t like the 40 and under rule. She told us that she really couldn’t put us in the 8-bed dorm, but had an empty six bed dorm. If no other geriatrics or lepers checked in, we could have it all to ourselves. I was a little disappointed, but it was better than nothing. Then things started going downhill. First, there was a working elevator. The room was basic, as you might expect, with a place that lists plugs as an amenity. It had three basic bunk beds, with clean white bedding.
The bathroom was also spotless with fun-colored tiles. There were big drawers under the bunk where we could store our stuff, which is more than our real hotel had. This wasn’t at all what I signed up for. There wasn’t even a wild party in the middle of the night to disturb us.
I wrote down a few things that indicated that we weren’t at the Ritz, but it’s a depressingly trivial list. The pillow was a little hard, and you couldn’t sit all the way up on the bottom bunk. The shower turned off every five seconds, but it turned right back on, so it wasn’t a big deal. There was a help sign for alcoholics on the door. That’s it. I’ve had more adventure snoozing in a recliner. The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, we went down to breakfast. It was not a Michelin star restaurant. Instead, it was called Ms. Chelin, which I appreciated. There were pictures of celebrities on one wall with messages like, “Taylor Swift did not eat here” and Leonardo Di Caprio did not try our Brinker Burger.”
My daughter traveled all over Europe on her own. If she had that chance again, I would feel fine having her stay here. I’d probably even recommend it. I felt very safe. When looking for a bad experience, you can’t fail harder than that.
It wasn’t until recently that I again went out of my way to have another bad experience. While planning a trip to Amsterdam, I found ‘The Worst Hotel in the World’. Really. That’s how it promotes itself. Officially it’s called the Hans Brinker Hostel. I didn’t think it could really be the world’s worst hotel. Surely that’s got to be some crime infested shack in a slum somewhere, or else it’s that place in Las Vegas where we stayed once. But this place claimed to have noise, mosquitos, and probably stains on the sheets. How could we pass that up? Dave was enthusiastic as well, “I guess so, if you really want to go,” he said. So I booked us for one night in an eight-person shared dorm. It wasn’t until after I had paid that I saw the message asking that those under 18 or over 40 not stay at this hotel. HEY! No fair! I quickly emailed the hotel, explaining that although we might be technically a little over 40, we were there for adventure and would not be complaining about anything. I never got a response. I figured bad customer service was a good sign and kept my fingers crossed.
Luckily for us, when we arrived, the girl at the front desk also didn’t like the 40 and under rule. She told us that she really couldn’t put us in the 8-bed dorm, but had an empty six bed dorm. If no other geriatrics or lepers checked in, we could have it all to ourselves. I was a little disappointed, but it was better than nothing. Then things started going downhill. First, there was a working elevator. The room was basic, as you might expect, with a place that lists plugs as an amenity. It had three basic bunk beds, with clean white bedding.
The bathroom was also spotless with fun-colored tiles. There were big drawers under the bunk where we could store our stuff, which is more than our real hotel had. This wasn’t at all what I signed up for. There wasn’t even a wild party in the middle of the night to disturb us.
I wrote down a few things that indicated that we weren’t at the Ritz, but it’s a depressingly trivial list. The pillow was a little hard, and you couldn’t sit all the way up on the bottom bunk. The shower turned off every five seconds, but it turned right back on, so it wasn’t a big deal. There was a help sign for alcoholics on the door. That’s it. I’ve had more adventure snoozing in a recliner. The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, we went down to breakfast. It was not a Michelin star restaurant. Instead, it was called Ms. Chelin, which I appreciated. There were pictures of celebrities on one wall with messages like, “Taylor Swift did not eat here” and Leonardo Di Caprio did not try our Brinker Burger.”
My daughter traveled all over Europe on her own. If she had that chance again, I would feel fine having her stay here. I’d probably even recommend it. I felt very safe. When looking for a bad experience, you can’t fail harder than that.