Letterman Writer on the Virtues of the Orlando Airport Quality Inn
In the new print humor quarterly Whim, many a joke is made, and some are even funny. The following exclusive excerpt from Issue 3, available now, comes to us from intrepid world traveler and Late Show with David Letterman monologue writer Kevin McCaffrey.
Important Things to Know About the Orlando Airport Quality Inn
Last year, my girlfriend Jaimie and I spent a few days in Orlando with my brothers, my mom, my mom’s husband Wally, and Wally’s considerable mustache. It was great, but our flight back to New York was canceled due to weather, and so we were given a “distressed passenger rate” to stay at the Orlando Airport Quality Inn. These are the things we learned.
The “distressed passenger rate” that American Airlines hooks you up with is surprisingly close to the rate everyone else pays. In fact, it’s exactly the same, whether you’re distressed, happy, amorous, or anything else. So, the coupon the airline gave us actually did not give us any sort of monetary break: instead, it just gave them a chance to call us a name (“distressed”), in print. Cagey move, AA.
The Orlando Airport Quality Inn is not actually at the airport. In fact, it’s a good 10 minutes farther away from the airport than many other hotels that probably would have been much nicer. Basically, I can call my apartment “Kevin’s airport apartment” and it would just as accurately describe its location. (Note: I don’t live in an airport.)
I don’t make a habit of looking at places and judging them like this, but walking to our room it became very clear that the Quality inn’s hallways and outdoor corridors seemed like pretty ideal places for sexual assault. Ambiance? Oui.
There was one guy working there. He answered phones, checked people in, brought things to people’s rooms, and even tended the bar. When he was busy, and someone wanted a drink, the cabbie from outside came in and served drinks, and had one himself. This is not a joke–this happened, and I’m sure it’s not legal.
At first, we thought it impressive that the hotel menu book provided you with seven different restaurant options: two Chinese places, two Italian, one bar and grill, one pizza place, and one was Thai food. All had large menus. The catch? They all had the same phone number. Shady? Big time. No one specializes in lasagna AND pad priow-wan. Except maybe my friend, Kim Jong Fantuzzi.
Between two ice machines, I was able to get a total of nine ice cubes. The first one dropped two cubes in the bucket, and I continued to press it and hear its motor churn for another full minute, to no avail. I went down through sex crime alley to the other ice machine. Seven cubes, and it was done. I took the last ice in the state. Florida, you’re welcome.
About an inch from my face, a dragonfly the size of a bat smacked into a window about and exploded like an overripe tomato. This might not actually be Quality Inn’s fault, but it doesn’t bode well when dragonflies are like, “This place blows, I’m ENDING it!”
They had a tattered sign that said “Premises under 24 hour video surveillance.” I’m 100 percent sure this is a lie. Quality Inn can’t afford to freeze water–I don’t think they have cameras. I don’t even think the Orlando Airport Quality Inn is under the surveillance of God. I don’t think he could bear to watch what His people have done with the place.
At one point, Jaimie and I decided we were participating in the most romantic thing to ever happen at a Quality Inn. What were we doing? Eating Domino’s. But we actually like each other a little bit. I’m convinced no two people who like each other have ever been to a Quality Inn together before, and certainly not this Quality Inn. The Quality Inn is a place you should be too embarrassed about to take your favorite hooker. Hell, Quality Inn shouldn’t even be on the list of places you’d consider taking your second favorite hooker. On the other hand, if La Quinta is looking for someone to write a promo for them, I would be honored. They are truly a fine, affordable chain.
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