dispatches from atlanta

What IS is about hotel bars that screams “desperation?”

I’m in Atlanta for work. After a TWO hour delay from National yesterday, I finally made it to my hotel at about 10:30 last night. I met 3 of my coworkers, and we went to the hotel restaurant/bar to get some food.

Ugh. Makes me miss places like Urbana, Poste, and Corduroy. Between the four of us, we had 2 burgers, some wings, and mozzarella sticks. We had a vegetarian amongst us, and quite literally, the only thing on the menu she could eat were mozzarella sticks.

Furthermore, when we arrived, the “patrons” were too stereotypical for words: one table had drunk management conference-y type people (looks like Debbie in accounting is about one more appletini away from sleeping with Mark from HR,) another had a mom and daughter who were incredibly huffy about the service (sorry hun, this ain’t the Four Seasons, take your fake Louis Vuitton elsewhere) and 2 slightly skeevy looking guys sitting at the bar, ostensibly watching the Suns-Wiz game, but really shooting our table pervy looks.

*sigh* I can’t wait to get back to DC. At least there, my burger 1) doesn’t suck, 2) doesn’t make make vomit at 5 in the morning and 3) comes with sweet potato fries.

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