Tuesday, July 23, 2013

The Zion Park Motel Confession

Can we be honest? I must confess. The Zion Park Motel was a dump. I will probably spend more time in purgatory for writing this.  I knew when we pulled in, that it was in THE PERFECT location, but was a cheesy, old motel. As the days went on, I found clues to back up my hypothesis:
 The Zion Park Motel is a dump.
1.       When we pulled up to check in, the first parking spot had a printed sign in a page protector that read, "Absolutely no parking, unless your name is Alma." Nice Welcome!
2.     The place was dated. Our room sported plastic faux white wood paneling. It gave the feeling we were sleeping in a trailer.
It didn't even feel like a double-wide trailer!

3. The light bulbs on the bathroom  vanity fixture had different sizes and shapes of bulbs.  The walls were blatantly dirty, leaving me to repeat my new mantra “bleach" in my head.
4.       In their defense, the room DID have a small refrigerator that was added where the medicine cabinet used to be! Yes, right next to the sink, a little fridge was jerry-rigged into the wall.
5.       The local tourist magazines on the corner table had "Motel Copy" scrawled across them in blue marker.  In true motel fashion, there was a Gideon Bible in the drawer, next to the Book of Mormon in German. That's a first.
Quaint, rustic or dumpy?
6.    Oh, and when we checked in, Daniel said the office had that “old lady smell.”  The brown den couch in the registration area sported John Wayne to it's left.  There was a two-way mirror over the couch that made me feel like we might be interrogated. That was the "Motel Business Office." Fake dried flowers, that hinted to once having color, slumped around, acting like décor.  
Never underestimate the beauty of a rock garden
       The large front window looked out onto the main drag and under it was a rock garden with an algae-filled goldfish pond. Five fish swam around the mossy gunk. Poor things. That made me repeat my mantra “bleach” all over again. Oh, and next to the pond, on the left, was a makeshift grave. Yes, grave. The frosting on this dessert was that there was a small boot on a stick, poking out of the red sand plot.  The headstone read "Here lies the person who stole our rocks."  I assume they were referring to their big rock collection sitting around like weary travelers.

I told the kids, "Don't lay on the bedspread."
    In the end, the Zion  Park Motel supplied us beds, with what appeared to be clean sheets, and a dusty bathroom that worked. My boys didn’t  care or even notice stuff that this Mom did. This was a sweaty-outdoorsy-boy vacation anyway, with the exception of being spoiled in Phoenix. 
Visions of Phoenix danced in my head, helping me
tolerate The Zion Park Motel
One last confession ... I am the idiot that booked this place, in an effort to save money. Remember that we are in “Furlough Mode?” Thankfully, we didn't spend much time in that dank room. 
 Although I don't recommend this Motel,
our two-night stay is a memory that I will never forget ... 
No matter how hard I try!

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