Darkness was beginning to fall as we trundled along Highway 401 through Toronto. I was anxious to get well past the teeming city in our minivan and trailer and the old school bus that carried most of our worldly possessions. This had been the first day of our move down east from southwestern Ontario and, with summer heat and one flat tire already, it had been stressful.
I was eager to find inexpensive accommodation for my wife Annie, our adult son James and his friend Don, myself, and our gentle old yellow labrador Biscuit. After passing some big name hotel chains, suddenly there it was: a place with a sign boasting “Affordable Rates” and “Features Nightly”. I didn’t know what that last part meant, but at that stage I didn’t really care. We had to get off the highway. Our little fleet rolled into its parking lot and I walked into Reception to book two rooms.
I couldn’t help notice that the young woman behind the desk was rather scantily dressed for greeting weary travellers. I also was mildly surprised to hear music and crowd noise rising up the stairs from the basement where I presumed there was a beverage room. Maybe that’s what had nightly features of some kind. But I was too tired to give it more thought. As long as we could sleep soundly I was satisfied with the rock-bottom room-rate.
So with two keys in my hand I walked around to the back of the hotel, gave a key to James and Don saying “See you at seven a.m. tomorrow”, escorted Annie and Biscuit through the back door of the hotel and up the stairs to our room. I had been worried about having the dog in our room without asking permission, but when I noticed an old vomit stain under a mat at the foot of the stairs, the dots connected and I realized this was not an establishment that worried about its reputation.
After turning out the lights before dropping into bed, I decided to look out the window to make sure our vehicles were well and safely illuminated in the parking lot. As I did so, a taxi drove up to the back door below and another scantily attired woman entered the back door. So that was the game at this place, I thought. Well, as long as they didn’t disturb our rest, who was I to judge?
Sometime after midnight we were awakened by thumping on the wall and loud cries of an erotic nature. Fantasies were being acted out in the room next door.
“That’s enough!” I snarled. “We need our sleep.” I phoned the front desk and demanded that the receptionist call the room and tell them to stop. Which she did…and it stopped. And sleep resumed.
Meanwhile, down in the beverage room James and Don were enjoying, not just a cold beer but also the feminine scenery. When one of the girls — apparently one of the “Features Nightly ” — approached them asking if they were interested in paying for a personal dance, James declined, explaining they had an early morning checkout and had to get to bed. (I was so proud of him when I learned that!) To which the dancer replied, “Then I’ll see you in the morning. I’m also working the Reception desk tonight.”
Sure enough, next morning the same girl who had checked us in the previous evening was behind the desk again. When James showed up looking for a coffee she gave him a smile and said, “Hello again. Our coffee shop went out of business. You could try walking next door and asking the Royalty Inn.”
Which he did. But they, understandably, would not serve their low-brow neighbour’s clientele. So we hit the road to find the next truck stop for some breakfast.
Much later, when we told our story to a friend who lived in a town near that hotel, she told us the Dynasty Inn was known locally as the “Die-Nasty Inn”. So who knows what really went on in those rooms? If only the walls could talk…
