In Early 2005, my daughter was married in Maui. I booked my plane and hotel together and, based on the travel site, the hotel looked pretty good. This hotel was near the airport, in a busy part of town. The hotel itself wasn't very busy, so I don't understand why their parking lot was so full, but it was packed. After driving around for close to 15 minutes, I found what I hoped was an overflow parking lot, and then got out to hike nearly half a mile to check-in.

My reservation confirmation was printed out, and I handed it to the desk clerk with a weary smile that wasn't returned. She, in fact, made it clear to me that she had better things to do. This was not some young kid, or I might have written off her rudeness as inexperience. This was a woman in her 40's, and I wasn't looking for a warm hug or a parade, just a bit of recognition that I was the customer and that she was there to provide service. She handed me my key card and simply turned her back on me.

I asked her about parking, and she turned her head, clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth disdainfully and replied, "You couldn't see that parking lot?" I replied that it was full and simply needed to confirm that where I parked was indeed overflow for the hotel and that my rental car wouldn't end up being towed.

She gave a disgruntled sigh, walked back to the counter, grabbed a hotel map, slammed it on the counter, and began to point at the several different parking lots.

At this point I was tired of her surly attitude, but was trying desperately to stay on the high road, and not stoop to this woman's level. I explained that the lots were all full, and pointed to where I believed I was parked, asking if it was O.K. to remain parked there. She grunted and turned away again.

"Ma'am, can you please answer my question?" I said through clenched teeth, wanting to slap her. She told me I can park wherever I want, and walked to the office behind the counter. Luckily I had seen her name on her tag. Ironically it was "Grace." I had every intention of speaking to a supervisor the next day, but at this point, I just wanted to get to sleep, since we had the wedding in the morning. I wasn't entirely sure if I'd have a car in the morning.

The hotel seemed to be deserted as I walked down the dank, smelly hall to my room. As damp as the hallway was, apparently they'd spruced that part up, but didn't feel it was necessary to do the same with the room. I have been in Mexico where it's humid, and briefly in Tampa, Florida right after a hurricane, but the dampness in the room was horrifying. I kicked off my shoes, and in the short walk to the bathroom, my socks were both wet and black.

The bathroom had peeling paint, cigarette burns on the counter and toilet, an almost empty roll of toilet paper, one hand and one bath towel, and no washcloth or toiletries of any kind. I called my daughter, whose hotel was in Kehei, I'd seen it and it was gorgeous. I let her know I would be at her hotel extra early in the morning to shower, describing the room to her. She told me I could stay at her hotel, since her hubby to be was staying in his parents' suite that night, so without unpacking, I trucked myself and my luggage the 30-some miles back to Kehei. It was one in the morning by then, and my daughter and I stayed up for another hour, chatting. Our day was to start at 5:30.

After the whirlwind wedding day, I grudgingly went back to stay in my dirty room, simply crashing on the damp bed. I opened the window to let in some fresh air, but between traffic, the airport and the industrial harbor nearby, there was not much to be had. I wanted no part of the air conditioner, fearing the mildew and fungus that could be growing inside it. Only sheer exhaustion enabled me to sleep, and the next morning I packed everything up preparing to shower again at my daughter's hotel.

Upon checking out, the young man asked me indifferently if I had enjoyed my stay. I replied that the night clerk, Grace, was an unhelpful bitch, the room would make a pig vomit, and that I would be making those very comments on the travel site that recommended this hotel.

He didn't flinch or blink an eye. I get the feeling he was accustomed to that answer.

After writing this, I felt it was my duty to try and remember the name of the hotel, to maybe save someone else the inconvenience and irratation.

The Maui Seaside.  The pictures are of course, not the true story, and in researching, I found that many travellers found the place as repulsive as I.