Jia J.
Yelp
Just shy of midnight on a Wednesday night in July, I sat hunched in a car borrowed from my mother. Fingers trembling, I looked up the Argos Inn on my phone. The aged Garmin that I had powered off when I thought I was done driving for the night wouldn't help me now. I hit "call."
The voice on the other end of the line was kind and patient, and remained so as I babbled out my life story: this had been the first time traveling, let alone booking a hotel, since the COVID breakout. Unwilling to "burn" my accumulating vacation days, I had worked all day remotely in Massachusetts before gunning westwards for six hours, chasing the fading July sun towards Ithaca, where I had never been. The no-frills hotel where I had planned to lay down my head before proceeding to Watkins Glen the next morning for a swim event turned out to be horrific. I was no princess, but couldn't stay there (conditions described in separate review). This was the first time that I had ever complained about, let alone left, a hotel! It was time I learned a lesson about cutting corners. Sure, I had gotten lucky scrapping by up 'til now, but I should realize I wasn't in Vietnam or Cambodia; this was Amurrrca, where what you pay is what you get. And, oh, was there room, sir, at the Argos Inn?
The voice replied that there was in fact space, and that on account of my late arrival, that he could give me a discount. This was a generous gesture, considering that I was prepared to pay anything even while eating the non-refundable reservation that I'd just run away from. Even the full prices were on par with what the other chain hotels in the city were commanding.
Relieved and curious, I asked him to describe the rooms that were left. He complied and I listened before suddenly becoming aware that I was being ridiculous and should just drive over there instead of keeping him on the phone. Surprised by my proximity, he said that he was taking off for the night, but that one Tippy would meet me - in fact, she'd be expecting me, and I would most easily find her in the outdoor bar area. I thanked him profusely, firing up the car.
Before hangup, he asked, not unlike a 911 responder, for my name. I told him and asked him for his. He said that he was Avi, casually adding, "the owner."
A little over a mile away was a world away. My edgy exhaustion morphed into a the-night-is-young anticipation as I parked in a spot gracefully marked for overnight guests and walked towards the twinkling bar and outdoor seating area. In the soft glow of string lights, diverse young people relaxed, sipping their last drinks and chatting quietly. Two smartly masked staff, stood by at the gleaming outdoor bar - a small structure of its own in the courtyard. This "new normal" felt just fine after all.
Soon, I met Tippy and chose one of the two rooms she showed me (#103). The keys were in an adorable lock box outside, also containing a parking pass for the dash and a miniature scroll tied with a red ribbon. Once situated, I hoovered down the gin gimlet made from scratch by the bartender with a brandied cherry on a sustainable metal stick and blue bottle of Saratoga bubbling spring water on the side. Before turning in, I requested a nightcap of Jameson, poured over a big ice sphere with a can of club soda on the side. I brought it all to my bedside, devoured a complimentary snack bar as a delayed dinner, and supplemented it with dehydrated Costco snack mushrooms that my mom had insisted I take "just in case." It was a feast.
Blissed out, I stepped past the black-and-white toilet to the concrete, limestone, and glass shower and had a ball. The towels were so fresh I rolled them into formations on the floor after using them because they deserved better than just being chucked on the floor. The whole place was like this - like home (a fancy home!), a place you instantly care about, want to take care of, and yearn to revisit.
The bed was cloud nine. I forewent the TV for the seemingly decorative poetry, fiction, and short story books under the nightstands. Reading from each of them, I went back in time, admiring the deliberation that must have gone into placing them there in case someone opened them.
The next morning, I had back to back Zoom meetings in utter peace, then checked out promptly at 11 a.m., not without separation anxiety. I was allowed into the staff only parlor (common area before the pandemic) to play the old black Steinway & Sons New York upright piano. Once Chopin rolled in his grave, I went to the sunroom to work, then out to the patio in the breeze for a couple of more hours with the patio WiFi.
Between work emails, I stole glances of Avi, now working along side his staff, hosing down trash bins and overseeing everything with the inimitable tranquility of ownership. I respected and envied this.
When it was time to hit the road, he said I was free to stay as long as I wished. Eyes stinging in the wind, I grinned and said I wished I could, but had to get going.