on October 22, 2004
The worst thing about a traveling package is you cannot choose the place to spend your nights at. I arrived New Orleans, knowing nothing about Hotel St. Marie, and allowed my mind to surprise me. "What's this place I am staying at going to be like? A haunted place? The best bargain in New Orleans? A big pit hole?"
St. Marie topped them all.
An ordinary exterior. An ordinary lobby. Well, I told myself, so much about any surprises. Up the lift, to the fifth floor we were staying at, it was another world. We made our way past room after room with a pink light shinning upon the front door.
"What the hell is this?"
"Some kind of special room service?"
Not able to solve this mystery with the limited clue, we arrived at the front of our room. No pink light.
"Why doesn't our room has one of those pink light?"
"Maybe those rooms are for single men only."
"I think we need to request a change to one of those room."
Nevertheless, we opened the door and laid our tired bodies on the beds. Soon I paid a visit to the washroom, and......the red light was discovered. At the turn of a switch, BAM, the toilet transformed into a psychotic residing cell.
"A red-lighted toilet?"
"This is insane."
Over the next couple of days, we tried to forge a theory to explain such abnormality. From abstract longshot to financial reality, we were enjoying the creation of such amazing stories about St. Marie.
But we wanted to know the truth, even if the truth was bound to disappoint. We asked the bellboy, at the day of our departure, the real purpose of the lights. He cautiously explained to us, "The lights serve no purpose at all, they were merely decoration." "They were not," he continued, "a prostitute room service signal."
Damn.
on January 4, 2005
on March 16, 2005
on March 3, 2007
on July 25, 2008
