When I booked the airfare for my house-hunting trip to Florida, I had the option of adding a hotel stay for a cheaper overall price. Since it was just for me and I wasn’t going for a luxury vacation, I opted for a room that was inexpensive and between the airport and the realtor’s office. Well, it wasn’t the Bates Motel, but . . .
When I arrived, I checked in with the guy at the front desk who was friendly and efficient. I walked up to my room which smelled a little musty and was a little warm, but I honestly didn’t care because I was so tired thanks to my delayed flight and plane ride from hell sitting next to Frank the Flatulant. So, I threw on jammies, washed my face, and wait a minute, why is the sink filled? The sink isn’t draining. At all. Ugh. I was too lazy to get dressed and ask for a room change so I decided to deal with it tomorrow. I crashed (after checking under the bed and in the closet for ax murderers and dead bodies, of course).
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