Episode 23 - Hell hath no fury like a Biscuit Burned!
First, I’d like to give a quick shout out to my sister Lynnlee who gave birth to her second boy late last night. Welcome to the family Cooper! We may be a little crazy, but you’ll never lack in love or laughter.
Secondly, a quick note about this episode. It’s a long one. In fact, it turned out twice as long as any other; however, as you will see, the story could not really be broken up without losing something.
And now, on with the show!
Previously on Biscuit’s Grand Adventure, weather got nasty, rental cars were denied and a ray of sunshine came our way.
Before we left for our trip, I got some basic information on our destination resort. It was a brand-new addition to the time share listings, was listed as a three star resort with a large pool, near Disney Property, with a daily shuttle to the parks.
In my mind’s eye, I went back to our summer of 1990 trip. I pictured a setup like the time share Pete and I had toured on the Fantasy Island trolley. Sleek condos, pristine pool, big dining room, whole nine yards.
I remember us pulling up that night (after an oddly short drive from the airport) and getting a look at the place for the first time. Hey GB, see those shards flying out the window? Those are your shattered illusions my friend.
The building itself looked surprisingly similar to a low-end motel. In fact on further inspection, one could see a large white blob above the door where the paint was thick enough to stand out from the rest of the building, but not quite thick enough to cover up the original name of the motel which was still showing through. (I THINK it had been a Travelodge)
Hmmm…well...okay…whatever, we’re just sleeping here. A vinyl sign hanging on the inside of the front door confirmed that we were INDEED in the correct spot, and so we bid our newly found friends goodbye and thanked them profusely for their assistance.
I then headed to the front desk, and after getting the clerk to peel himself away from the mini TV he was watching, I managed to get us checked in. There were two things that really stuck out about the lobby. One was that it was decidedly lacking in décor. By lacking, I mean there were several squares on the wall where it was obvious from the fading paint that there had once been pictures hanging. Yet, for reasons unknown, the pictures were gone and nothing had replaced them.
The second thing I noticed was that it smelled of feet. Or stale cheese. It’s hard to tell the two apart sometimes (depending on the foot being referenced, of course).
After getting our key, I asked for our park tickets. When the reservation was made, my Aunt LeeAnn had paid for our park tickets and was told they would be waiting for us at the front desk. The desk clerk advised me that I would have to get them from the desk of the timeshare office in the morning. I inquired as to when it opened and was advised that it opened at 9:00 AM. Okay, no biggie. We can get our tickets and be in the parks by 10:00.
Upon retiring to our room, we discovered that it bore resemblance to the lobby in two ways. One, it had a faded square on the wall where a picture of some sort used to be, and two, the motel name on the phone had been painted over with a substance bearing a striking resemblance to White-Out.
There were also some discolorations of unknown origin on the carpet, but other than that, it was quite cozy. At that point, we were so tired, we didn’t care about the décor. We did, however, care about the hole in the sheets on the first bed we unmade. Thankfully, there was another in the room, and it seemed to have all of its linen intact.
The next morning, I headed down to the lobby around 8:55 to procure our park hoppers. I asked the lady at the front desk where the timeshare office was and expected her to point down the hallway. Instead, she gave me a street map. I looked at it a moment, realized it was beyond walking distance, and advised her that we had no mode of transportation.
She told me that the shuttle would leave for the timeshare office at 10:00 AM. Hmm... well... okay then. I got back to the room and advised Tracy not to bother hurrying. We eventually returned to the lobby and waited on the shuttle. About 10:10, I checked back with the front desk to see if she had an ETA.
She did not.
We waited some more, and at 10:30, I asked her again about the shuttle. She advised that it would be there as soon as possible. Finally, around 11:00 AM, a white 15-passenger van pulled up outside. It had no markings on it, but the driver came in and asked if anyone was going to the timeshare office.
We immediately jumped up and headed outside. I was all set and ready to go when the driver asked me for $12. Come again? He then advised me that he did not work for the timeshare company; he was just a contracted shuttle, and that it was $6 per person to get there and back.
Okay... well then… if it results in park tickets in my hands, I guess I can swing $12. (Although had I known this was not a complimentary shuttle, I’d have called a cab an hour ago.)
After a short drive, we arrived at a pleasant-looking office building and were greeted by Tiffany, the bubbling podium checker-inner.
I remember her name because she repeated it every time someone came in the door.
Which was often.
We told her we were there for our park tickets, and she checked us in, then pointed us towards a lounge area. I scoped the place out and soon realized that this particular office managed several different timeshare properties.
After 20 minutes or so, I was called up to the main desk, where I advised the man at the computer what I needed. He handed me a folder and told me to have a seat in one of the side offices. Okay... well... I guess.
A few minutes later, a woman came in and asked us for our ID. I assumed this was to verify that we were the true intended recipients of the tickets. The folder the dude gave me detailed the joys of timeshare ownership. I had to grin a moment and thought, “If only Dad were here.”
About ten minutes later, the lady returned with a frown and asked who had booked our tour. Uh... come again? I advised her that there was no tour; we were just there to pick up our tickets. She then advised us that we couldn’t get our tickets without taking the tour. I advised her we weren’t interested in the tour; we just needed to get the tickets that were already paid for and were supposed to have been waiting for us the night before. She then told us we couldn’t take the tour because we didn’t meet the minimum age requirement.
Have you ever had a conversation where you felt like you were talking to a jar of fruit? I was having one of those conversations. I advised her again that we did NOT require a tour, as our tickets were already paid for. We just needed to pick them up.
She told us to wait for a few moments, and that’s when Manager Guy 2.0 came in. His hair was not quite as frozen as Manager Guy 1.0 from 1990, but he did seem to be equipped with the same perma-grin. I again explained the situation to him, and he went in the back to “check the files.” A few minutes later, he came back, apologized for the mix-up, and advised us that if we would have a seat in the lounge, they’d get our tickets.
HALLELUJAH!
Perusing a wall map of Orlando in the lounge, I discovered our resort—which was “Close to Property”—was on the other side of the airport from The World (AKA the far eastern side of Orlando). I’m not sure what unit of measure was used when determining that the use of the word close was appropriate, but I guess compared to, I don’t know, say Atlanta, it qualified. (I also wondered what abyss they pulled the three-star rating out of.)
After another 10–15 minute wait, I was again called back up to the counter. Computer dude had an envelope sitting in front of him. Great, we’re making progress! He then said, “Okay, Mr. Biscuit, we’re all set here. Will you be paying by Visa or Mastercard?”
Being caught quite off guard, I stood and stared at the guy and finally replied, “Paying for what?” To which he replied, “The park tickets you ordered.”
DOH!
I then explained again that the tickets had already been paid for; we just needed to pick them up. He then scowled at his screen for several minutes and advised that there was no record of the tickets having been paid for.
I asked to see Manager Guy 2.0, and after another several-minute wait, was called back to one of the side offices. I again explained what was going on, and he went to “re-pull the file.” He then said that while there was a credit card number in the file, it was one digit short, so they had been unable to charge it.
He did offer to let me use the phone, so, not knowing my Aunt LeeAnn’s phone number by heart, I called my mom. I explained the situation, and she gave me the correct number.
At the time, Aunt LeeAnn was a partner in a home health agency in Arizona. When I called, I reached an office assistant and discovered my aunt was with a client. I gave her the lowdown, and she promised to have my aunt call me ASAP.
About twenty minutes later, the computer guy at the desk brought me back up and advised I had a phone call. My aunt was on the line and felt terrible about the problems we were having.
She gave me the corrected number and told me if there were any problems to call back within 15 minutes, as she had a meeting she had to go to.
You know where this is going, don’t you?
I gave the corrected credit card number to front desk dude. He then advised me that since it was a keyed-in number and not a swiped card, he would need to get Manager Guy 2.0 to put it in. Okay, at least we’re making progress again. I returned to the lounge area and waited some more.
After about 10 minutes of not seeing Manager Guy 2.0, I invited myself back to the desk but had to wait for a couple in front of me to be processed in. I then inquired as to the status of our transaction. Computer guy looked at me funny and said, “We’re waiting on the fax.”
Fax? What fax?
“To enter the card manually, we have to have a copy of it.”
I’m counting now—1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.
Okay, and you didn’t tell me this twenty minutes ago because??????
“Oh, I thought Manager Guy 2.0 explained that to you. Even if you get the numbers over the phone, we are still required to have a faxed copy of both sides of the card.”
I got back on the phone and called my aunt’s office, discovered she had just entered the meeting and that it would last for the next 90 minutes or so.
Okay, it’s after 12:30, we haven’t eaten yet, and I’m way too agitated for my own good. We decided to head to the KFC next door and soothe our sorrows southern style... deep-fried poultry and massive quantities of gravy.
My wife assured me it was all going to be fine; it was just a little delay. But something was gnawing at the back of my mind—something the shuttle driver had said that I felt was significant.
We returned back to the lounge area, and after making sure my aunt had not yet called back, we settled in to wait. My aunt’s meeting ran a few minutes late, but she DID call back as soon as it was over. She soon had the fax sent through, and around 2:45, computer dude told me they had it. We still had to wait on Manager Guy 2.0 to finish with someone else, but he eventually emerged and went in the back to run the numbers.
FINALLY, around 3:30 PM, computer guy called me back up to the front and handed me the envelopes with the tickets.
JOY! HALLELUJAH! AMEN!
Now where’s the shuttle? We found out from Computer Guy that the shuttle would be here at 4:00 PM. Okay. Let’s figure this out. We can wait for the shuttle, take a cab to the motel, or take a cab to property. I asked how far we were from The World, and they advised about 22 miles.
That’s going to make for an expensive trip there and back. Okay, we’ll wait on the shuttle (since we’ve already paid for it), head back to our motel, and then go immediately to the parks. Yet something still bugged me in the back of my brain.
The shuttle van arrived around 4:15. I asked our driver the question that had been bugging me all afternoon: “So is this the same shuttle service that takes guests to Walt Disney World?” He affirmed that it was. I then asked him the golden question: “How much does it cost?” He advised me it was $20 per person, per day, but children were free. Well, thank goodness for that. I then asked what the cost was for a ride to the airport, and he replied it was a $35 flat fee.
We got back to our motel around 4:30 and were greeted with a sign in the lobby that the pool would be closed for maintenance for the next two days. Well, this day just keeps getting better. I headed up to the room and pulled out the phone book to check on taxi rates to and from The World. After giving our motel address to multiple companies, I found the rates to be even higher than the shuttle. That’s when my heart finally sank. I realized that we had a choice: we could go to the parks every day, or we could eat—but we could NOT do both.
While I was working my way through the Yellow Pages, I heard a startled shriek from the bathroom area. Tracy then advised me that there was a bug in there. It turned out to be a roach.
A MASSIVE roach.
This was pretty much the end of the fun for us. Let me just tell you that there are few things in the world as disheartening as being in Orlando, with unused Park Hoppers, time, and enough money for food plus a couple of souvenirs, and then realizing that it’s just NOT going to happen.
We talked it over, and neither of us wanted to be stuck in a white-walled room with no pool and nothing to do the rest of the week besides chasing roaches.
I called the airline and found out that we could try to get on a plane early by going standby, and if they could take us, we wouldn’t have to pay extra. There was a flight out that night, and Tracy and I decided that we’d just head back home. I can’t begin to express how horrible I felt for Tracy at that moment. As upset as I was about missing the parks, I felt worse about letting her down.
I called my mom and told her the whole sad tale and that we were packing up and heading out. She told me she’d call me back in 30 minutes and not to leave for the airport until we talked to her. I wanted to tell her it would take three times that long for Shuttle Man to show up, but I couldn’t bring myself to make a joke—even a small one.
My mom called back about thirty minutes later and told me they had found us another place to stay and gave me an address. Given the events of the past two days, I was not yet ready to celebrate.
I called the phone number on the business card the shuttle driver had given me and gave him the address. He said he would drive us over for $25. Okay, fine—worst-case scenario, we go to the airport in the morning.
He told me he would be there in an hour, so about an hour and twenty minutes later we headed down. This time, we only waited in the lobby about five minutes before he got there. (I may not be the sharpest cheddar in the cheese case, but I’m trainable.)
Our driver then started loading up our gear, Tracy got in the van, and I went to check out. My friend, the mini-TV fan from the night before, was back at the front desk again. I got his attention and told him I was ready to check out.
He looked quite confused for a minute. Apparently, people only check in when he is working. He then looked us up and said, “You aren’t scheduled to check out until Saturday.” I replied that I knew that, but I was checking out now. He then replied, “But you are already booked. You can’t check out early.” I then held out the keys and said, “We’re checking out now. Here is our room key.” He responded with, “I cannot accept the key from you, sir. We don’t allow early checkout.”
And THAT, my friends, is when I lost it.
Now there’s something you need to understand. I RARELY lose my temper. I tend to be even-keel almost to a fault. Before transferring to my current department, I was the escalations rep for Tier Two tech support. Whenever someone came on the line screaming and cursing at another rep, I took over the call and calmed them down. I can handle stressful situations without losing my cool. But on that fateful night, the events of the past two days had already pushed me to the edge, and the absolute absurdity of the conversation I was now having was all it took to give me the final shove.
I slammed the key on the counter, and drawing on every molecule of park beast within me, I literally bellowed, “WE ARE LEAVING THIS GOD-FORSAKEN HELLHOLE RIGHT NOW, SO TAKE THESE KEYS AND STUFF ’EM IN WHATEVER ORIFICE YOU FEEL APPROPRIATE!” I then turned, exited, and shook the dust of the place from my feet. (In a perfect world, I would have farted on my way out the door... but that day, the world was far from perfect.)
My finest moment? Probably not. But I have to say I felt much better getting into the van.
At this point in time, I still wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but after the past two days, I was content to simply sit and be driven. About a half hour later, we pulled into the Holiday Inn Nikki Bird.
I introduced us at the front desk as Mr. and Mrs. Biscuit, and the lady checking us in immediately apologized for the horrible honeymoon we had been having. She then explained that my Aunt Jana had called, told her what we’d been through, and arranged for us to stay there for the rest of our trip.
She then advised us that the resort did indeed offer a complimentary shuttle to the parks, which ran several times daily, and gave us the schedule. She also gave us a map and pointed out the pool, hot tub, dining room, gift shop, and all that other nifty stuff.
She told us that on our last day, we would leave our bags at the hotel after checking out to maximize our park time. Finally, she told us that if we had any problems at all, to call the desk and ask for her personally.
In that moment, it was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had been afraid to get my hopes up before, but now I stood there, jaw open, and looked around. The place was absolutely amazing. I know this may sound crazy, but I couldn’t have been happier if I were checking into the Contemporary. The resort was such a STARK opposite of where we had just come from that it isn’t even possible to express it.
I was so happy, I could have leaned across the counter and kissed her. But I didn’t because, well, I was on my honeymoon, and as Tracy had not yet had a good soul-cleansing release of pent-up emotion, I had a pretty good idea as to which orifice she would select as the recipient of our new room key.
We were then escorted to a waiting golf cart, and a smiling dude in a bright shirt drove us to our room.
How do you say thank you to someone for something like this? Especially when they have already given so much for you to be there to begin with? Aunt Jana, if we haven’t said it recently, let me say it again: thank you so much! We appreciate it more than you can know. You literally saved our honeymoon.
Mom and LeeAnn, thank you as well for helping us get to live our dream and for bending over backwards when things went off-kilter. (And since neither of you are WDW nuts, you should Google those last two words together with the word Epcot.)
We love you all!
Matt & Tracy
Coming up on Episode 24 - Our honeymoon truly begins and we discover an old friend.
Raising hand!
I was probably about the same age as you when I got married (Were you 23?), though we did wait until we had BOTH graduated college. I think your whole "no dating til I'm ready to get married" thing is sweet. I wouldn't have taken that route if you'd paid me, but sweet nonetheless 
Glad you found your way over!and
