What Was I Thinking? Vol. 16

Hit send. Just hit send. It'll work out fine.

A couple years ago some friends and I decided to head down to New Orleans to attend Jazz Fest. To their own misfortune, they charged me with finding us a hotel. As we made this vacation plan on the later side, every single hotel I tried to get was booked except for this one place outside the city. Across the Mississippi. Knowing that we already had our flights, it was this place or the street. So I booked it. On some random hotels website, before the travel gnome and yellow suitcases hit it big.

When we arrived at the airport a woman in a white suit asked us if we needed a taxi to our hotel. We told her where we were staying and asked what she charged so we wouldn't get screwed on the whole taxi fare outside of the city limits deal. She gave us a flat rate and told us to follow her. All of our mouths dropped when we stopped in front of a white limo.

"For serious? This is your taxi?"

She smiled and said get in. We couldn't help but take it as a good sign, until we got in and realized the limo was 30 years old.

When we got off the highway and it looked like she was turning into the parking lot of a defunct bank, we asked her where she was going. She pointed to a building about 500 feet behind the defunct bank.

"That's your hotel."

After working out a most distasteful booking situation, (apparently the website I used not only did not send our booking request, they also charged us an extra two hundred dollars over the hotel's rate. So much for saving on the taxi ride,) we piled into our room. After a while we decided our first dinner in New Orleans could not be spent in this hotel outside the city so we called a cab and waited by the luxurious pool for it to come pick us up.

A pool so luxurious, by the way, a bar of soap was placed neatly by its side.

Needless to say many alcoholic hurricanes later, we were thrilled with the outdoor oversized bathtub.