Miami Beach, United States
We finally switched rooms in this Miami Beach hotel this afternoon. I'm told this room typically goes for about $415/week, through we'll still be paying the discounted $280/week rate agreed upon when we arrived.
We've got a corner unit that lets in a tremendous amount more light than the dark, first-story alley-facing room we had prior. The room is significantly larger, with a 1/4 kitchenette (large refrigerator, sink, cabinets, and food preparation area—but nothing to cook with), air-conditioner, phone (for incoming calls), and bathroom attached by hallway that doubles as a narrow walk-in closet. There's a microwave and toaster down in the lobby, though.
The wireless Internet comes in slow and weak by the window only, but good enough to keep me from having to leave the room to connect elsewhere.
I'm annoyed that the windows in this room, like the other we stayed in, are so aged that the latches have broken off, or won't even stay open without something propping them up. This annoys me greatly, and is just another security risk that disrupts my peace of mind. I'm left looking for spaces in this room that I can discretely secure with a padlock and hasp. I wish I could padlock the front door—who knows how many times this simple room key has been duplicated (like I'm about to do tomorrow).
Although we were given the key to the room yesterday, the living space was so filthy that it took all yesterday afternoon and this morning for the staff to prepare it for us. I poked my head in there before it was ready and couldn't believe the mess.
Yesterday we caught a glimpse of the previous occupants with their bags as we were heading out of hotel—a pair of rather skanky looking black girls.
The two were actually prostitutes from Georgia, shacked up with their pimp (also an occupant of the room), according to the middle-aged Spanish-speaking woman who cleans the hotel. She also noted that the pimp never once allowed her into the room to clean (hence the disaster zone), and that the women would occasionally be yelled at or not let back into the room because they didn't bring in enough money that particular night.
A few business cards for an Atlanta-based "Rent-A-Wife" service were found in various drawers as we moved in today. So I guess if you're in ATL and feel the need for someone to perform "nude house cleaning, personal cooked meals, dominatrix, fantasy role pay, or nude full body massage", let me know, and I'll toss you the contact details. Wow, Atlanta housewives rock. (grin)