So I just went to Niagara Falls. SO beautiful. I totally went lame and cried my ass off on Maid of the Mist, exclaiming, "it is just TOO beautiful!"
But I took my friend John who is in the Peace Corps. So I knew from the beginning that he just wanted to see me at his house.
I, however, have a limited amount of vacation. I work in an office, for crying out loud. My 2 weeks are like gold. So i decided that I wanted to do Niagara Falls. I plan the entire trip, knowing it will all come out of my pocket. (As a side note, this is not the point; I don't mind that part at all, it is just relevant to the story following.)
I pick a sweet room. (Almost a pun, it was the Jr. Presidential Suite...) I wanted a jacuzzi because living in my apartment, I never get to take a bath and I really miss those. So I am going all out. Full-on vacation. The room itself costs more than I spent for 5 nights in Paris, air inclusive. Again, all fine. My choice.
So the first night I go to take my beloved jacuzzi. John decides he wants to go for a walk and leaves me in the hotel room. I run the bath; I specifically brought a bath fizzy for just this occasion. I get in and start to feel the stress melting away. I am in there for awhile and I start to feel woozy. Did I make it too hot? I end up pouring cold water over my head, trying to cool off. I decide this is the point at which "smart" people just get out of the tub.
John comes back and finds me, in a towel standing in the middle of the doorway, about to completely pass out. And you know those stupid towels they give you in hotels. I even left a comment card: "If you have a jacuzzi, you should really have robes in the room, or at LEAST bigger towels!" He has to help me to the couch and bring me cold water. Not the greatest start to my "I-work-in-the-field-of-publishing-of-course-i-can-afford-this-totally-
ridiculous-trip-on-my-credit-card" trip.
So the next night we do the whole ordeal: Maid of the Mist (I can sob just thinking about it), Cave of the Wind, Nasty border patrol person asking me where I am going when I walk over Rainbow Bridge. The whole thing. We have a voucher for the dinner, and end up going to the hotel restaurant to use it up. I am sure we will go over, but decide the minute I get there I need a martini. So I get the martini, get an appetizer, get the fancy $35 pork dinner. Again, it is my vacation. I'm not going to live with regrets. John gets a drink too. Then we end up getting another. End of the night, we have spent way more than that little voucher allows for. They bring it over, and who do they give it to? John. Has he paid for the trip? No. The gas to get there? No. So I am annoyed. I take the bill and pay it, then wait for the slip to sign. Do they bring it BACK to me? Nope. It goes back to John. Because he really looks more like the "Diane" of the group.
Annoyance is minor, I move on, have a great time, etc. (See me having a great time, left. I am in yellow, not the 90-year-old man in orange.)
So the following day, the trip is over. All my great joy is coming to and end. They have this great system where you call an automated number with the little slip they give you when you drop your car off, and in 10 minutes your car is outside. (I love not having to deal with people.)
We walk outside with all the lugguge, and I swear the conversation went like this:
Me: "Hi, I see my car. Can we just get right in it?"
Valet guy (only to John): "Sir, can i have your slip?"
Me: "Oh yeah, I have that slip somewhere."
I dig it out of my pocket and give it to the guy with a smile. I can totally be understanding.
Valet guy: "Ok, while your keys are being retrieved, sir, do you need any directions for getting out of here today?
John looks at me.
Me: "Nope, I think we've got it all under control."
Now I start to bristle. I mean, enough is enough. Not that I am bossy person, but I clearly wear some pants here.
Valet guy gets the keys and bring them over. "Sir, your keys."
I snatch the keys out of his hand and can't even help but curtly reply, "They are MY keys. THANKS."
I mean, ok. So you stereotypically think the "man" is in charge of the entire trip; it is his car, his credit card, his keys. Well, let him tip you then. A-hole. Guess what? He didn't. The tip came from my ANGRY hand when I took the keys from the sexist valet man.
Anyway, what a rant. But it is SO tiresome.
