Between the Pot Bar and the Booze Bar

So, on my way to Superstars Writing Seminars, a plethora of problems happened. This is really tongue-in-cheek, because it was all rather minor.

I was travelling with my buddy Rafael Hohmann (he’s awesome, go read his stuff!). First, I paid for a window seat. I got the one outer seat that didn’t have a window! Just a wall of plastic. Then, my air vent didn’t work.

A local friend picked us up from the airport, and after grabbing some dinner we stopped at a grocery store, ready to head to our Airbnb. We get there, and the lighting is creepy. Its a two level apartment complex sitting betwixt a liquor store and a pot dispensary. Or, as we like to call them now, the booze bar and the pot bar. Our friend, Cindy (also awesome, read her stuff too!) says “Do you want me to wait?” and I respond “Naw, I think we’ll be fine.”

So, we ascend the creaky stairs to the second floor, find the room, and I start trying to get the code into the lockbox hanging on the door. We hear a dog barking, Rafael swears he heard someone scream in the distance (we’re writers, some embellishment is inevitable). Suddenly, the door cracks open and a young woman says “Yes?” I respond “Um, it seems the Airbnb double-booked us?” Her response?

“I live here.”

I say thanks and goodnight. Frantically messaging the host. Nothing. No response. I head down the stairs and towards the street and I give Airbnb a call. Meanwhile I hear some noise down the other stairs where I later learn Rafael’s grocery bags fell apart and dropped his milk and Doritos everywhere. He says he was pretty sure he was gonna get murdered.

So, I’m standing in the cold, talking to Airbnb, they say they’ll figure it out and call me right back.

Did I mention it’s 10:30 at night and 10 degree weather in Colorado?

Anyway, I reach out to Cindy and tell her what’s happening. She says “Do you want me to come pick you up?” I respond “If you don’t want us to freeze to death.”

As she was on her way, Airbnb calls back. The system that had been responding to me when I booked the room was automated, and the host had sold the property months ago. They offer me a refund and a 100$ coupon. No other rooms to replace with. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do.”

Ten shivering minutes in the cold later…

Cindy picks us up and we all head to the Antlers Hotel (the location of the conference). We’re hanging out in the lobby as we try to figure out what to do, surrounding by luggage and groceries. After a stream of swearwords, I was just laughing at this point.

The ending of the story, however, is happy. The Antlers happened to have an extra room, and kindly gave us the holiday rate!

Now, we have a great story about when we almost got murdered between the booze bar and the pot bar.


Published by Thomas Fawkes

Writer of fantasy for lovers of philosophy and physics. Booyah.

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