When Ginger and I left Hyatt Windward Point on Sunday morning we closed the condo door for the last time on the lukewarm water, dim lighting, slow drain in guest bathroom, tiny spiders running around on the kitchen countertops and funky WiFi. We also left behind the uncomfortable queen-size mattress in the 2nd bedroom, the rooster who crowed daily at dawn, the neighboring balcony that is so close to the master bedroom window you can take part in conversations that aren’t any of your business and tough-to-work main television clicker.
The morning was cold and we wheeled our suitcases and detritus down the long side of building 8 across the back side of building 8, along the zig zag sidewalk toward the next building and on toward the elevator, the nearest (get it?) elevator to our condo unit (yes, that elevator; see my January 8th post, “Trapped in Paradise”). We dodged the rainy puddles left from the previous day’s torrential rains as we wheeled along, talking about our upcoming breakfast at Camille’s.
We wheeled up in front of the elevator, pushed the “down” button and waited. The wind blew and the puddles at our feet rippled. Huddled into my jacket, I pressed the button again, but no elevator came. We waited some more, then finally gave up. The elevator was out of order, but without a sign to let us know. We bounced our wheelies and detritus down the three long flights of steps and wheeled, kinda breathless, into the lobby to check out.
At the front desk I handed in our two keys. The young woman working the desk printed out my receipt and asked how everything was.
I replied, “Well, the clicker for the main television in our unit isn’t working at all well. Someone must have lost the back to the clicker and then taped the batteries in with black electrical tape. It will need repaired before someone else checks in.”
The young woman lost her smile and replied, “Ok. Thank you for telling me.”
“Also,” I continued, “I was the one trapped in the elevator two days ago and I want to let you know that it isn’t working this morning either. My friend and I waited and waited, but it didn’t arrive on the third floor so we had to bounce our suitcases down the three flights.”
The young woman gave me a brief look and replied, “We already know the elevator isn’t working,” as she turned and walked away.
I have loved every Hyatt property I have ever stayed at. . .until now. This one made me grouchy.