When Harold and I got into Richmond, we drove past the stylish restaurants, art galleries, and bookshops of downtown, and we were in payday loans and check cashing counter territory when we found our hotel. We also weren’t entirely sure it was open, because all the lights on the street-facing side were off. It was not entirely reassuring.
This one of my stranger hotel visits, because the building had, at one point, been a fairly upscale hotel. You could see how someone had once carefully chosen and coordinated the (peeling) wallpaper and (stained) carpets, and that when it was new, it must have looked really nice. We looked at the pool, but the room was only lit on one side (unsure if this was a wiring failure or lightbulb apathy) and the floor was warped enough to leave deep puddles. There was also a whole wing devoted to holding functions, but it was deserted, naturally. Pretty sure anyone holding an event would have a few blocks down the street, at the Greater Richmond Convention Center, rather than here in the ghost hotel.
Everything non-essential was broken, and in some cases, even the Out of Order signs were dusty. One elevator was non-functioning and the other had a little sign asking riders to please press the buttons harder. But hey, the bed was comfortable, and the room was clean, and it was right down the street from Harold’s comic con.
Although, when we left the first morning to go to the show, the desk clerk was visibly relieved that we weren’t checking out early.
