Up at 7:15 and immediately call Deb, our travel agent. She's pissed. I jump in the shower while she investigates WTF happened. Turns out the idiot night auditor took it upon himself to cancel our confirmed (many times), late-night-arrival rooms when we didn't show up in what HE considered a timely fashion. And I will guaran-fucking-tee you that he was the asshole sitting in the little office cubby just behind the front desk last night at 1am while Matt, the nice-enough desk clerk, was trying his best to take care of a couple of tired, pissed-off roadies. AND… he could hear every word of the conversations taking place between Matt and us. Asshole. Asshole. Asshole.
OK, so anyway. Deb got us the correct rate and major apologies from the staff when I went down to check out around 8:30.
Jump in the mini-van (OK, we were calling it "the short bus" by then), stop by Starbucks (damn, damn, damn) and drive the 3 blocks to the gig.
Oh yeah, it was a GREAT hotel, other than the reservation debacle. Real hip rooms, great design and furnishings.
Jump on the (real) bus around 11:30 for the 6-7 hour drive to LA. Should get there just in time for morning rush hour, which you probably know from watching TV and movies, is pretty bad. Off we go…