I had lived in the motel for a while during the remodeling of our home. WHAT A MISTAKE! Please, do not make the mistake I did by going to this poor excuse for a hotel. The name of the motel is very misleading; upon entering this wretched establishment, my nose was attacked by all sorts of odors. The room was dirty and looked as if it hadn't been clean since the establishment of the building 20 years before. The TV was fuzzy and the promised HBO that I had been paid for, was, well it wasn't. . . there was absolutely no service, even when the surrounding Palatine area wasn't under construction, just as my home was. Don't get me started on the beds. I saw the tag on the bed and it said that the bed from 1949. The springs were broken, and as a result, the beds were supported by wooden slabs. We never received a single sheet for the bed that wasn't littered with cigarette burns. They had to be at least 10 years old. The floors were also awful. After only a short minute of walking on the carpets, my feet were blacker than night. The bathrooms were awful too, the toilets were stained and broken, and the surrounding floors were a mess. When I cleaned them, I was shocked to find that the floors were not naturally this icky brown color; they were white! And into the later weeks of my visit, the tub had filled with stagnant, sewer water and fecal matter for damn near a week. We had found that there were tree roots were infiltrating the plumbing. Whenever we flushed the toilet, the water got a tad higher.

And please, stay with me. The long, tragic story rolls on. . .

The refrigerator wasn't even a refrigerator! It was an icebox. You couldn't fit a gallon of milk in there. All my food was rotten, and the foods in need of freezing were either melted or just warm to the touch. Above the refrigerator, sits the microwave, a puny 700watt excuse. It wouldn't heat up my food, and if I had the air conditioner on during the microwave's session, the electricity would shut off.

The hotel owner also abuses the two workers. She, Brunetta Bucci honestly needs help! Not help, help, but medical help! One of the workers, a fix-it-up, lawn work kind of guy, was stricken with polio long ago. And the other has cancer. And because of their ailments, Mrs. Bucci abuses them. They only eat one meal a day due to their very, very, very low pay and usually, if he’s lucky the polio-victim, receives breakfast from the lady in another room. We have also provided him with food during our stay.