I'm going to start doing some retro-active posts. I've just started blogging and I have so many stories to tell so I'm going to throw out some blasts from my pasts. I was going to do it on a Throwback Thursday or Flashback Friday but, well, I'm busy you guys. So forgive me, I'm doing it on a Saturday. Also, I have no clever alliteration to go with Saturday.
Ok, so what had happened was... (If you know me, imagine me starting this story just like that, with my hands flailing around expressively.)
Last year, at this time, T and I decided it was time for our first trip away from the girls. We thought it would be fun to visit Savannah because of the history and nostalgia. T left me in charge of finding a place to stay for the weekend, which he really should have known better. I hate researching things because #1: my girls see me on the laptop and decide to flush and/or eat things they know they shouldn't and #2: my ADD causes some serious distress in staying focused long enough to make a comparative list of possible lodging. I was online for a solid week and a half until I finally found a hotel, outside of the "historic district" that we could afford. We were broke as a joke. February is that sad period of time. It's the after-Christmas and before-tax income period of time that just sucks financially. Oh, you don't have that? Ok, well you're dismissed. Anyways, I made a reservation over the phone, gave them our credit card info and we were set! We were so excited to finally get away for a weekend!
We drop the girls off at my parents with their clothes for the weekend and the entire stash of their Valentine candy. (They are grandparents. They had it coming.) T and I head down to Savannah. I google the address of the hotel and find it and we head that way. We show up and they say they don't have our reservation on file. SHUT UP. I tried my best to tell that half-wit bimbo that our reservation was most certainly on file. After a fatherly lecturing from my precious husband, that was somehow filtered by a veil of love, I still couldn't believe that I was to blame for messing this up. It went like this, "Honey, why wouldn't you print out an email confirmation? Did you keep any kind of record? That's really irresponsible." I tried pulling up any email from the hotel and found nothing. So we went on our way trying to find a hotel with any vacancy at 7:00pm. We found a hotel for that one night, and then a different hotel for the second night. Whatever. It was a place to stay and we were going to make the best of it. We stayed in our sub-par hotel that night and ventured out into the beautiful downtown area of Savannah the next day. The first thing we did was stop at a souvenir shop to buy something for the girls. We found the cutest little pirate book and some "parrot poop" candy. I went to pay with our credit card (which we never use, but has better protection when traveling) and the lady said "Um, this is declined." I'm sorry, wha? It can't be. Try again. "It still says declined." We leave the store and I sit outside on a park bench with a nice old man playing guitar and some other dude making roses out of grass. The bank says they mailed out new cards and those were invalid now, even though not out of date. They were useless. Well. No big deal, we'll use our debit cards. Let's just enjoy the weekend. And we did. We walked, and ate, and walked, and ate, and shopped, and walked. It was the best time for the two of us to remember what it was like before the daily-ness of marriage and kids.
Fast forward two weeks. My husband was (compulsively) checking the bank accounts when he calls me in a panic. "Hey, we have a charge on the credit card that looks like its from a hotel?! We didn't even use them in Savannah? Call and figure this out!" Yeah, sure. I look it up and find the number that goes along with the charge and call them. "Thank you for calling Courtyard in Midtown" I begin to tell them my story about coming in and them not having our reservation and wondering why we were charged for that night when we didn't stay there. I was a little annoyed. She said "We have this down as a failure to show up or cancel so you were charged for the room" Oh no she didn't. We most certainly showed up and there was no room in the inn! I asked for a manger to call me back. This is an outrage! I called T and said "Courtyard said they have it down as we didn't show up?! Can you believe them?!" My sweet husband said, "Courtyard? We went to Country Inn??"
...
Imma need to call you back.
I then channeled all my focus into what had just happened.
I had made the reservations at Courtyard at Midtown and showed up at Country Inn at Midtown.
My ADD had just hit a new high, or low, not sure which way it goes. I had seen so many hotels and B&B's and condos over the last few weeks that they all blurred together. I showed up at the wrong hotel expecting them to have my reservation for a place two miles away. I then realized I had to call my hubs and tell him that it was truly and whole heartedly my fault. He literally had no words. Well, he did. He said it was time for me to reconsider medication. I called the hotel back and tried my best to explain my mistake and beg them to give me a refund. It took two months but I finally got it refunded. Win for me.
This has to be *one* of my most embarrassing moments, by far, but I still find it wildly amusing that I could be so flighty. Then I realize dinner has been in the oven for an hour and I've never turned it on.. and I think "Yep. It can happen."
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