Rob had the idea of the Embassy Suites. I didn't realize exactly where it was until we got there. The hotel I lived in that got condemned over a year ago--the same one that set the domino chain of events that led me to living in much hated Milwaukee for four months--was right across the street. In fact, I could see it from the room. When the pipes burst, I would go to the starbucks (yes I hate starbucks but it was right there) get a really weak macchiato and go into the embassy suites to use the bathroom. I saw the art supply store that had inspired paintings--and got me through those god awful four days there-- acrss the street. Funny how time plays tricks on you, taunts you with how non-linear it really is, how four days can load you with more memories than weeks or months sometimes.
Of course that throws me off. The idea of a hotel getaway weekend is that it's a luxurious reprieve from the concerns of daily life. Instead, I was distracted by memories. But I made the most of it.
We went
to the happy hour: guests have free drinks between 5 & 7 pm. The catch
is, it's one drink per person at a time. The lines are long, so you would
get a drink, slam it and get back in line. I ordered a kamikaze chilled.
"I can
only give it to you on ice." the bartender said.
"Why?"
I said.
"Company
policy,"she said. Now, few things irritate me more than someone falling
back on company policy. Generally, most jobs explain said policy in training.
If they don't, any one with half a clue can find a bullshit excuse that
sounds legitimate enough to appease a questioning customer.
"And
what is the rationale behind the company policy?" I demanded.
"It's
just company policy!" She said, obviously irritated that I wasn't accepting
her pat answer.
"Fine,"
I grumbled, "give me a cape cod."
"Would
you like that with or without ice?" she asked.
I stopped
and stared at her dumbfounded. Was that a joke? It had to be a joke.
No one would be so stupid as to ask that after the exchange we'd just had...would
they?
"What?"
I asked.
"We
cant serve shots, only cocktails. Would you like that with or without ice?"
"I'd
like a kamikaze, chilled, as a drink." I said.
"Oh
so you just want a really big drink," she said snidely.
Um...there
goes *your* tip.
Later, we went to Vivo's for dinner. Vivo's is a favorite restaraunt and has exceptional food. Even though service was below par last time, we figured we'd give it another shot. Big mistake. We couldn't even get a seat in smoking this time, despite having made reservations some hours before. The waiter seemed so pleased over now knowing our first name that he seemed to think that he didn't need to do his job. After not having our appetizers even after an hour, I inquired about them. Apparently, they had been sitting out for an hour and he hadn't brought them to us. He said he'd make up for it with a free dessert (now, while dessert is all well and good, we'd rather pay the five bucks for tiramisu and actually have decent service.) and brought us fresh appetizers a good five minutes before our main course arrived. The food was good, atleast. But then he forgot about us and we had to flag him down to get our check. There had been a tanqueray representative who was handing out cards for free martinis and had told us that if we hand it in to the waiter, he'd be happy to redeem them. Rob did, but never saw his drink. After waiting twenty minutes for the check, he came by with the dessert. I said we really wanted the bill because I had a migraine and really wanted to leave. (I'd been fighting one all day and the chianti drove me over the edge.) He suggested another dessert. I said, no, please, just bring us the check so I could go home and lay down. He brought the dessert he recomended. Five minutes later he finally brought the check. We paid and left. It dawned on us that perhaps the service was in such decline *because* we were regulars. We then decided that there were too many nice restaraunts in this city to tolerate that. We had been patient at first, because they always make up for the mistakes they make, but then we realized that they weren't even trying to avert the mistakes, and we'd be best to take our business elsewhere.
We went back to the hotel. Rob called down to the desk for more pillows. By now it was getting late. Forty five minutes later, we didnt have them. So Rob called again, this time more insistent. They finally got us the pillows. I laid down and slept while Rob watched television. Rob tried to sleep too, but the bed was too uncomfortable (I was uncomfortable too, but my head hurt too much to notice much else) I woke up drowning in sweat. At first I thought I was getting the flu, but Rob noticed it was ungodly hot in there. We wound up turning on the air conditioning, which was pretty sad considering it was forty degrees outside. Rob drank himself into a stupor until he literally couldnt keep his eyes open then passed out.
Overall, I can't say the embassy suites was worth the money. It's definitely more of the place you throw a party in, do lots of drugs and leave the place in a shambles for the maid to clean up...as opposed to a romantic getaway. Perhaps romantic getaways are best if they aren't planned but are just a spontaneous thing...those mornings when you decide to blow off responsibility and go on a road trip or go to the zoo tend to have a lot less glitches...but hey, we tried, and atleast we got a good story out of it...right?