HotelChatter

Quickly and flawlessly I execute a perfect Luke Duke maneuver to escape my silver mustang convertible, (which I obtained in some sort of free upgrade from Budget) and head to the Triton's front desk. Acid jazz thumping from the outdoor speakers and friendly smiles from valets have me feeling like I made the right hotel choice, but as I approach the check-in desk to confer about my one night of residency I felt an overwhelming chill. At the desk is the Abominable Snow Monster of the North in female form, she serves me an icy glance and asks me for my name and confirmation number. After informing her that the confirmation number was safely hidden in my Boston apartment I was sure she was going to exile me to the Island of the Misfit Toys. The SnowWoman grew cooler by the second, until we finally agreed that I would simply register anew as a walk in customer. Turns out the walk in rate runs the same as the Triton's online site. Thank god I reserved a room early.

After the SnowWoman's triumph over me, the valet informed me that there was a $30 parking charge at the Triton. Ouch. However, I couldn't leave my sweet rig leaking fossil fuel next to the red curb, so I gave the valet my keys and off he went. As he drove away I was sure this was going to be a Ferris Bueller experience, except Budget would be much more understanding in the end.

Up in my room I unwrapped the shutters to find a real prize of a view. I was looking over a demolition site of some sort. Sure the Chinatown gate could be seen with a simple crook of the neck, but I felt shafted. The demolition site cast a dark shadow over the entire room. The chamber itself was modern enough, comfortable enough, and came complete with a mosaic bathroom, but I was antsy to get out and have a drink, so I jettisoned my luggage and left the room.

I headed down the dim, black lit elevator to the lobby, where I inquired about a good sports bar to watch the Monday Night Football action. By the time I revisited the lobby the SnowWoman was relieved by a smiling guy, justice at last I thought. Smiley pointed me toward a twelve pack of Anchor Steam soaking in a metal bucket of ice, while muttering pleasantries, but all I heard was "Free Beer". Apparently, the Triton runs a "drink for free" happy hour from 5 to 6 every night and the hotel is smart enough to dismiss the SnowWoman before the festivities begin. Too bad, she could have used a beer.

Free beer usually absolves any past transgressions, and this case was no exception. Suddenly, I found myself openly conversing with other guests, the staff, and the resident Tarot card reader. That's right, you can even get your future in Technicolor for $15, live at Hotel Triton. Nice touch Triton.

A few beers later I am ready for MNF California style, complete with beaming sunlight and early bedtimes. I ask Smiley for the nearest sports bar and he lists this suspicious triumvirate:

Irish Bank, Jillian's, and "the bar under the Marriott".

As frequent SF visitor I was familiar with all these watering holes. Here is what I remember:

• Irish Bank: It is right around the corner, but stank of pale euro degenerate imbibers and young media whores; maybe if I wanted to watch Cricket! Bad choice mate, let's move on.
• Jillian's: Isn't this place full of idiot Red Sox fans, you know the crowd from Bandwagon University out on Commonwealth, the same posers who turned over cars after an ALDS win? Oh wait, that is a different Jillian's. Jillian's SF is a fine place, but is over a twenty minute walk from the Triton.
• "The bar under the Marriott": Ok, this is what I am left with. Problem is, this bar is a 15-minute stride from the Hotel. Oh well, beggars can't be soothsayers.

After taking in the entire MNF game I walked back to Hotel Triton. Smiley had informed me that there was WiFi in the lobby, so I figured I would check the status of my fantasy team. After firing up the laptop I realized that Smiley left out a teeny tiny detail. The WiFi was being usurped from Starbuck's across the street and it was T-Mobile connection! That is a whole different beast. Pay for access? I don't think so Mr. Triton, Demigod of the sea.

Despite the liars and frigid women working the desk, Hotel Triton supplied free beer, an excellent locale, and a warm bed for a night. Sounds like Heaven to me.