Dear Trading Post Inn: Screw You.
This has got to be the worst trip ever.
A little background. Last Christmas, I proposed to my longtime girlfriend. We set the date for September. Unfortunately, our work schedules basically made honeymooning impossible, so we booked this non-refundable vacation in Maine as sort of a pre-honeymoon. It was going to be us and her brother Anthony and his girlfriend Rebbecca. Anthony and I are very close, he was going to be my best man. He's a really together guy, a VP for a Travel Agency. Very organized, and once you get to know him, pretty funny. We went to college together, and he introduced me to his sister.
Then in July -- as in two weeks ago -- she calls it off. Five years together gone because she's got cold feet. No matter how much I beg and plead, she won't hear me out or take me back. I guess you can't force someone to marry you if they don't want to.
So after all this grief and heartache and trying to figure out when I can get my stuff, I'm stuck with these tickets and reservations I can't seem to get rid of. Logic dictates they would just hand the reservations off to anyone else or, you know, just have some vacant slots in their stupid hotel, but no, apparently logic doesn't apply in Maine and I am honor bound to keep the reservation. Even if I don't show up, I'll be billed. That's bullshit, I'm sorry.
But here I am anyway on my lonely little non-honeymoon. Since the reservation was for two, I decided to invite my old college friend Lisa. She's cute and everything but I never really thought of her that way. Still, I know she's had a few negative experiences, so she keeps elbowing me and reminding me she's not a rebound. Yeah, Lisa, I know.
To top that all off? Anthony's girlfriend got food poisoning and her last-minute replacement, keeping with the "college reunion" theme, we brought our other buddy Zane along. He's had a rough time of his own, being unemployed for the last three years, aside from piecework and shit jobs. It's nice to get "the gang" back together, but under these circumstances, it's depressing as hell.
But I guess it could be worse. The weather's mild. We still all get along well. The beds seem comfy enough. The place has a certain rustic charm. I just need a lot of beer from now until we go home.
At least someone slipped this e-mail address under my door. Sorry for ranting, but you did say to "open up" about my Inn experience!
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