The Lex Files:
A Retired Blog

I’ll be honest with you: We have had problems with Room 202.

May 9, 2007 on 3:57 pm | In Good Stories, Life Updates, Work

I live in New Jersey, but I work for a company out in LA. Since my daily office commute would be even worse than a typical Angeleno’s, I of course work from home most of the time. But about once a month, I fly out to Los Angeles for a few days.

Demand Media currently has offices on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. Having an office on 3rd Street is certainly fun; you get to observe and interact with the various crazies who frequent the Promenade. Instead of firing up iTunes, you can listen to the wacky dude who drums for an hour, as his percussion mixes with the opera singer half a block further south and the trombone player a half-block in the other direction.

Third Street is also within (non-literal) spitting distance of several hotels with various rates. Until this past week, I had only ever stayed at the Georgian (once), and the Best Western Ocean View four times.

The Georgian is nicer, but the Best Western is cheaper, and I have been saying at the latter to save Demand some cash during my monthly visits. So I was being a caring employee, saving Demand $50/night — but at what cost?

We’ll get to that. First, I have to keep building the dramatic tension.

The Dramatic Tension:

My colleague, coworker, and friend Jeremy also flew out to LA this week. He arrived Tuesday night, a little more than 24 hours after I checked into the Best Western. The previous week when we had each been booking our travel, I had recommended the Best Western — this would be my fifth time there, after all! But something interesting happened: Jeremy’s charming wife Abi did some research online, and there was a small but vocal community of complainers on the ‘net who claimed that the Best Western Ocean View in Santa Monica suffers from a major bedbug issue.

I shrugged it off. Reminded Jeremy I was a Best Western frequent freaking flier at this point; I’ve stayed there over and over and never noticed any issue. Well, one time, I had noticed one bug in my bed when I woke up, but it looked like just a regular bug, not a bedbug. But yeah, I’ve stayed there a few times and lived to tell the tale. I advised Jeremy not to sweat it. Impressively, Jeremy is still my friend.

When I checked in on Monday night, I asked the desk clerk Anthony about the bedbug issue. He explained that there had once been an issue in one room with some bugs, after a guest violated policy and snuck a pet in, but that the issue had long ago been dealt with. I thanked Anthony and made my way up to room 410.

I got into the room and pulled all the blankets off the bed, inspecting the sheets and pillows. Nice crisp white sheets. A bug would surely stand out on them. And I saw nothing. Satisfied, I got into the bed.

As I tried to drift off to sleep, I’d occasionally feel an itch. I chalked it up to my mind playing tricks on me. There are no bedbugs, I told myself. Unless there are. But there aren’t. Like a programmer on the night before launch, I couldn’t stop thinking about bugs, but I couldn’t find any either — because I was blinded by exhaustion. (That first day in LA, when I work all day after waking up early east coast time and taking the 5+ hour flight — it’s a long one!) Eventually, sleep won out over general-skeeved-out-ed-ness.

Let’s fast forward to the next day, using the TiVo 30-second-skip. Bloop -> Bloop -> Bloop!

The Next Day:

Jeremy arrives at the Best Western Ocean View (”Bedbugs check in, and check out on your skin!”) and checks in. Jeremy arrives forearmed with some knowledge on bedbugs that I didn’t yet have, including what they look like (disgusting) and how to find them (move the bed and look between the bed and the wall). The suckers (which I call them because they are, in fact, bloodsuckers), as it turns out, love to hide.

Jeremy enters his room (#202) and immediately moves his bed away from the wall. You will never guess what he finds.

Did you guess bedbugs? Damn, okay, you WILL guess. I guess I sort of hinted at that already.

Yes, Jeremy found bedbugs — some dead, more living — crawling around, on, and near the bed. They are very tiny and were still in “hiding” mode (they don’t tend to come out to insert two little tubes into your skin — one with their anesthetic-laden saliva, the other to do the actual sucking of blood — until an hour or so before dawn most of the time). But they were most distinctly there, if you knew what to look for.

Jeremy called me from his cell phone. I was at the Demand Offices, two blocks away. “You need to come to the Best Western now. We’re checking out.” I, of course, instantly understood what he was saying.

At this point, I had the only one-word thought someone in my position, having slept in Hotel De Bedbugitos the night before and four times previously, could think at this time: Yeechhhhhhewewewewwwwwwwbllleeeeaarrrrggggggh. Let’s tense-shift again for narrative purposes:

I power walk to the hotel. I enter my room, 410, and quickly pack up my things. I call Jeremy, who meets me in the room. We pull the bed away from the wall. We see one thing that’s possibly a dead bedbug. We find no living bedbugs… But we find no comfort, either.

We go back to Jeremy’s room for a moment, so he can show me his bedbug treasure trove. He’s carefully arranged several of the dead ones on the white “feedback” card asking how he enjoyed his stay. He takes a few grainy cell-phone photos of the living and dead bugs as well.

And now, my friends, is when the story gets interesting.

The Story Gets Interesting:

We head downstairs to check-out. Working the desk is Anthony — the same guy from yesterday whom I’d asked about those pesky Internet bedbug rumors regarding the Best Western Ocean View. Jeremy briefly explains the situation and indicates that he and I are both checking out, now.

“I’ll have to charge you for tonight,” Anthony says.
“We’re not paying for tonight,” we reply. (Possibly in unison. Less likely, in melodic, two-part harmony.)

“I have to call the manager,” says Anthony.
“No problem.”

Thus far, we’ve been quiet and respectful. We’re not trying to cause a scene or attract attention. We’ve been firm that we’re not paying for tonight, but polite about it. Also of note: Jeremy’s been checked in as a guest of the hotel for less than an hour.

Anthony calls the manager, Robert. (Specifically, Robert Farzam.) Pausing the story for a moment, let me ask you: What would you do in Robert’s situation? You’ve gotten interrupted with a complaint about bedbugs from two guests of your hotel. Do you apologize first? Do you attempt to offer different rooms? How do you make it right?

If you’re Robert the Best Western Hotel Manager, you say this to Anthony, who relays the message to us: No problem, you can check out — you’ll just have to pay for tonight.

Robert, it seems, went to the Dipshit School of Customer Service, under the tutelage of Harry Headupmyass.

(Some of the intrepid souls out there may be wondering if Mr. Robert Farzam has a profile on Linked In. Of course he does.)

We have Anthony relay a message back to Robert on the other end of the line: “No.”

Backing up for a moment: The first question Robert asked when Anthony told him about the two unhappy guests looking to check out because of a bedbug problem was: “Which rooms?” That was my first tip-off (but not the last!) that Robert was well aware of his hotel’s problem with bloodsucking insects.

So, we’ve said: “No” to Robert’s offer of our checking out in exchange for paying for the night we didn’t intend to stay at his hotel. Robert then instructs Anthony to send someone up to the rooms to look for bedbugs. That’s fair. I advise them to look for that response card that Jeremy left with the dead bugs, and the bed’s still moved so they can spot the living ones as well.

I’m not sure if anyone actually checks the room, but about a minute and a half later, Anthony comes back up front and indicates that Robert’s going to want to talk to one of us directly. I indicate that I’ll take the call. While we’re waiting for the call, Anthony apologizes for his boss. If it were up to Anthony, he wouldn’t even charge me for my first night, then one I actually slept there. Anthony subtly implies that Robert is an asshole. (”He’s kind of an asshole.”)

(Some of the intrepid souls out there may be wondering if the courts agree that Mr. Robert Farzam is an asshole. Of course they do.)

I mentally resolve to be polite as I take the phone to speak to the man himself. He can still right these wrongs, if he tries hard enough.

“This is Robert. How can I help you?”

I explain the bugs, the unpleasantness, our intention to check out and go to another hotel immediately. I indicate that I’m willing to pay for my first night when I did stay there.

Robert, who graduated cum laude from the aforementioned Dipshit School… Laughs. Yes, he laughs. Robert laughs throughout much of the conversation that follows.

Robert: “We don’t have bed bugs. Did you SEE any bed bugs?”

It is at this point that I begin wondering whether Robert suspects that we are engaged in some elaborate heist to check out of hotels early with no penalty. This in spite of the fact that I’ve stayed there many times, and that Jeremy’s been there for less than an hour.

Robert (continued): “What makes you think there are bed bugs?”

Robert is a charmer from the get-go.

I explain that our primary indication that there are bedbugs is the fact that we observed them directly from a distance of approximately 12 inches, tell him firmy but politely that we are checking out, and that we certainly aren’t paying for tonight.

Robert expresses his deep concern about losing money on the rooms — it was about 7pm, and now those rooms would sit empty. I point out that it’s probably a good thing for him NOT to book the rooms with bedbugs, since that would mean, y’know, allowing bloodsucking insects to feast on someone else.

I explain to Robert that, again, I’ll pay for the night I slept there. I explain that neither of us will pay for this night, though, that we feel comfortable with our motivation for checking out. I politely explain that, in all honesty, we’d immediately call our credit card companies to ensure that they didn’t pay, if he did charge us for this evening, and that this would likely end up costing him more than just doing the right thing here.

Robert wasn’t interested. He instructed Anthony to charge us both and hung up the phone.

A few minutes later, he called back and spoke to Anthony. Anthony had just started running the charges on our cards. He passed the phone to me.

Let me preface this next part with a Dave Barry allusion.

I Swear I Am Not Making This Up:

Robert: Listen, I KNOW there are no bed bugs. I have a signed document from Terminix, who was in room 202 TODAY respraying for bedbugs, and this signed document says they’re all dead now.

Did you catch that? Respraying?

Lex: Well, Rob, I have photos of living bedbugs crawling around. Apparently they haven’t seen this document.

Robert: We don’t have a bedbug problem.
Lex: Was Terminix in the room today?
Robert: Yes.
Lex: Why were they RE-spraying the room, Robert?
Robert: I have a signed document from Terminix.
Lex: Right. The ones the bugs themselves didn’t countersign. But why was Terminix RE-spraying the room?
Robert: They have said that any bugs there were dead.
Lex: Robert, they were in the room because BEDBUGS WERE IN IT TOO, right?
Robert: Yes. But now they’re dead.

The call ends. He calls back right away to talk to Anthony some more. He instructs Anthony not to charge Jeremy, but to charge me for both the previous night and this night.

Now, to be fair, I understood where Robbie was coming from. I had “held” the room all day Tuesday, in theory. He didn’t know or care that I left at 7:30am for the office and was first coming back now, and only to check out. He hadn’t had “use” of the room that day, and was going to have a tough time selling it tonight.

He made his case more when Anthony again handed the phone to me:

Robert: Did you see bedbugs in your room, 410?
Lex: Not explicitly, Robert. But they hide, they’re a challenge to find, they cling to anything that goes by. And they are notoriously difficult to remove.

(As it turns out, you need to wash all fabrics with extremely hot water, vacuum multiple times, treat chemically, wait for some extended period of time, and then repeat the process. And that may not take care of it.)

In between calls (our calls kept ending when we couldn’t reach agreements, but Rob kept calling back), Anthony mentioned that Robert always resells the rooms the same day they get sprayed, which seemed to be a somewhat frequent occurence. Anthony says that the management of the hotel he used to work out would always wait 30 days after spraying before giving out the room again.)

Robert’s back on the phone. And it’s at this point in our conversation that Robert speaks the line that is the subject of this blog post:

Robert: I’ll be honest with you: We have had problems with Room 202. But room 410 should be clean.
Lex: Technically, I think one might argue that room 202 should be clean also, Robert.

At this point Robert explains that he’s of the belief that I want to leave the hotel to stay close to my friend Jeremy. Now, I love Jeremy, he’s a great guy, but frankly I didn’t give a rat’s patootie where he stayed vs. where I stayed — I just wasn’t staying in a hotel with the practices that Best Western Ocean View was revealing. I had no interest in risking more bedbug bites than I’d already risked.

I attempt to explain this to Robert with the following analogy:

Lex: Robert, if you came to my house and I told you I had bedbugs in my room, all over my bed, sheets, and carpet… But that the guest room was fine, don’t you worry about it, I’ve kept the bedbugs contained just do that one space through a combination of cajoling, prayer, and gumption — would you be comfortable sleeping in that guest room?

Robert said that yes, he would be. Unfortunately for Rob, though, he’s not invited. My guest room fouton is off-limits to him.

At this point in the dialogue, my patience is wearing thin. Jeremy and I have dinner plans with a third colleague, and we’ve now been “checking out” for a half hour. I mention to Robert the growing number of people in the lobby overhearing my end of our conversation — that I’m not trying to make a scene, but that it’s probably not in his best interest to engage a guest in bedbug conversation for this long. Robbie doesn’t care — I know this because he says, uncryptically: “I don’t care.”

I explain that in my opinion, my standing offer to take the charge for my FIRST night in the hotel is a gift, that some managers would likely want to comp my stay, especially given my repeat visits and the fact that I stay in Los Angeles for several days every single month. I again explain that my plan if he charges me for the second night is to walk out of the hotel, call my credit card company on my cell phone, chargeback the charges, and find a hotspot to begin composing this blog post. My blog isn’t the most popular on the web (Alexa rating: 89 billion, approximately), but I think I know a Digg-worthy consumer-aggrieved-and-deserving-corporate-validation-story when I live it.

Rob: Ha ha ha, I don’t care.

Did I mention that Robert laughed a lot during the conversation? Maybe he was reading some of my old hilarious blog posts after Googling my name.

At this point, Robert relented the slightest bit: He told Anthony to charge me the day rate, half the night rate, on top of my first night stay.

(On the topic of Anthony… He’s a good kid. He didn’t do the right thing the first night — he was not fully open with me when I mentioned the bedbug issue at check-in, since he clearly knew more about it than he let on. He also mentioned to us that he’s looking for a job — for some reason, he doesn’t like working for Robert. Anthony was just following orders at the Best Western Ocean View, but I know he can do better.)

Anthony rings up my card for the day rate + first night. I prepare to write “Not Authorized” on the credit card slip.

Robert calls again. “Listen, like I said, we do have a bedbug problem in room 202. But we’ve never seen a bug in 410.”

Lex: Robert, I don’t want to be around to be the guy who finds them.
Robert: But I can assure you, we have no issues in that room.
Lex: It’s not possible for you to have bugs in two rooms?
Robert: Correct.
Lex: It is beyond the realm of possibility?
Robert: Listen, I can assure you — there are no bedbugs in 410.

I gently explain to robert that his personal reassurance is useless to me; he hadn’t been forthcoming with me earlier in the conversation when he took his sweet little time mentioning 202’s history of bedbug issues. Don’t forget, he tried to get Jeremy to pay for and sleep in the room he KNEW HAD BEEN SPRAYED BECAUSE OF BEDBUG INFESTATION TODAY.)

Robert, to his credit, apologizes that I can’t trust him. He again makes explicit reference the money he’ll lose by not being able to sell my or Jeremy’s rooms tonight. I reassure him that it’ll be good for his soul to take a night off from exposing paying customers to Cimex lectularius.

Forty-five minutes after our conversation began, Robert told Anthony to charge me only for my first night.

I got what I wanted. Why am I so pissed?

1. Robert Farzam and his Best Western Ocean View have a known bedbug issue.
2. Farzam knowingly books rooms that are infested with bedbugs without warning his customers.
3. Farzam attempted to book my friend Jeremy in a room he knew to be infested with bedbugs.
4. Farzam initially lied about the presence of bedbugs in his hotel.
5. Farzam attempted to make Jeremy pay for his room.
6. Farzam made no attempt to apologize for the bedbug issue.
7. Farzam repeatedly lamented that the room would go empty for a night, and seemed eager and fully intent upon booking that room up just as soon as he could, to subject another unsuspecting guest to bites, potential rashes, and general heebie-jeebieness.

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