Part the Third
Despite her hatred of flying, Kate the Impaler is on her way to Atlanta, GA in the dragon’s belly… literally.
Great was the relief of Kate the Impaler when at last she was able to exit the belly of the dragon. Greater still was her joy at being reunited with her baggage. Alas, her pleasure lasted but little: once she had departed the southern lair of the great dragons, she did find air of such heat and moistness she could ill distinguish between drinking it and breathing it (give me some slack: my part of PA rarely gets that hot and humid, and I’ve acclimated enough that Atlanta was kind of a shock).
There she did bid a small messenger bird to return unto her beloved husband with the news that that the great journey did proceed safely, ere seeking a shaded location to rest while awaiting the carriage.
Great was her dismay upon realizing that while the carriage did make use of the arcane magic of air conditioning, such magic powers did not extend unto the vehicle’s suspension. And so did the time pass, with the warrior maiden’s behind feeling every last unevenness of the road (and lo! The roads were peopled aplenty with workers, thus ensuring that there were many unevennesses for Kate the Impaler to perceive).
At long last, the carriage did make rest at the gates of the realm of Choo Choo, wherein the Evil Muse did await to convey her and her baggage unto the finest palace in the realm… Or so did the advertising claim.
The warrior maiden did beg to differ with such claims, for though the Evil Muse and the Redhead of Doom did greet her with joy and welcome, and did take her to the lair of the Gay White Mormon Men With Great Racks (wherein did the Mistress of Costume agree that Kate the Impaler was indeed a worthy member of that exclusive brethren… or sorority).
There did she wait. For lo! Though the palace advertising did state that guests might make themselves comfortable from the hour of four, the suite prepared for her was not prepared for such a distinguished guest. That it was not prepared for any guest, be they ever so lowly, did not appease the warrior maiden, who may have permitted language not appropriate for one of her station to pass her lips.
At last, the Redhead of Doom did form a one-woman raiding party (or possibly a one-Gay-White-Mormon-Man-With-Great-Rack raiding party) and storm the palace demanding the guest suites for which she, her husband-to-be, and Kate the Impaler were required to part with substantial gold (By this stage I was feeling quite ill, something that got explained earlier this week by – yay – a diabetes diagnosis. Fear not (or fear, your choice) medication has been procured and the finger stick doover will be happening in 8 days).
The heart of the warrior maiden did sink unto the nether regions of her shoes when she did enter her suite at last, for alas! It did smell of mold, albeit faintly, and the air-conditioning spell did rattle and groan – though to her great relief it did blow exceedingly cold. Worse was to come, for when Kate the Impaler did open her baggage, there lay the dread glyph of the minions of the dragons. They had violated the sanctity of her possessions: what vile curse had they left?
With trepidation did she extract clean clothing of sufficient niceness as to be appropriate to a wedding, and take herself unto the bathroom, wherein did Kate the Impaler do battle with the imp possessing the shower, for should she elect to have cold water, she did receive a stream of heated water like unto scalding. Choosing hot water did make no difference. Only when the warrior maiden did place the dial exactly half way between hot and cold did she receive water of a temperature she could endure (it was tepid. Yes, I had tepid showers all con).
Then, as she rested ere the wedding, she did note the dark stain forming an elegant fan from the vent of the air-conditioning spell. Small wonder the suite did give off an odor of staleness, for if it was cleaned as well and as often as the air vent, it would indeed be stale and unpleasant.
Then did the palace maid arrive to finish making the bed, and Kate the Impaler did get treated to a lengthy monologue from said maid as the bedding was wrestled into compliance. And the warrior maid did muse darkly that only the impending nuptials did save the palace owners from a terrible – if richly deserved – fate for their failure to employ sufficient servants to attend their guests.
Little did she know that worse was to come…
To be continued.
Mad Genius Club 
13 responses to “Kate the Impaler Goes to LibertyCon – Part the Third”
Little did she know that worse was to come…
Horrors aplenty already and more to come? Oh nooooooooo!
Hope all goes well as you adapt your eating patterns to the new reality.
Little did she know that worse was to come…
That kinda looks like that foreshadowing thingy I hear writers talk about so much. I wonder what it means.
FWIW, been to moderately swankier places that had issues, including the dreaded dripping AC. Beware the snacks and water so thoughtfully provided and placed where kids can get them. What’s “fun” is opening the door to your room and finding someone has already moved it.
No jokes about finding the heat and humidity of Atlanta uncomfortable. Even military kin stationed in warmer but drier climes have found Georgia weather uncomfortably hot.
Oh my.
In regards to the diabetes diagnosis, I know someone (a journalist trained in the days when that actually meant real work and not political training) who received a diagnosis of diabetes and heart disease both. He had bypass surgery and then managed to get off medications entirely (with his doctors’ blessing) through paranoid attention to his diet. (It doesn’t hurt that he’s the local gardening guru, so most of what he eats is stuff he grows.)(Or that he’s a cyclist, the kind who bikes his age in miles for his birthday. And he’s a senior citizen.)
Short version: TONS of fiber and very low on carbs. There are online trackers that can tell you what’s in your food. When I dealt with gestational diabetes (which has related though somewhat different needs), the carb-tracking was the principle thing.
It is a pain. Especially if you (like me) have never had to pay attention to your food before. But you get a rhythm and some of your options are delicious. (I like salmon a lot, for instance.) But it’s so much better than it has been.
A four PM check-in time and the place can’t manage it? With a major convo starting? Hmm, as much as I’d like to stay there next year, I’m starting to wonder.
Glad you got a diagnosis, but I’m sorry you got diagnosed.
Didn’t Peter Grant have a lot of problems at the same hotel last year? Seems the convention organizers might want to look for a new location.
I wonder if you got the room we refused. The first room this year had mold scent strong enough I was not going to breathe there, and no lamps. None. Oh, and the door handle wouldn’t lock once we finally got maintenance to unlock it, as for the third year in a row, the room keys they gave us at check-in didn’t work on our room.
The second room was much better; all we had to fight was a door onto the patio that didn’t want to latch, and a shower that took half an hour to drain after a short shower. (You may have had tepid water, but I’ll bet you had clean calves and feet!) They asked if we wanted to switch back after they fixed the lock and found some lights for the room. We declined.
Next year I really, really need to think about the logistics of staying off-site, because the not-breathing-around-mold is getting noticeably worse every year I live in the south.
I’ve run into that once. The hotel was hosting two conventions: The business convention we attend, which is larger than Liberty Con, and an international convention that was larger than ours. The night before there was a huge televised event close by. All we were told by the apologetic staff was that the previous guests had made a mess and it was taking longer to clean up, so we chilled and went through the conferences and picked who was going to what and when.
I have no evidence that the messy guests attended the major event the night before, but they would have been the type to be a little rowdy.
The Choo Choo is a wonderful place for a con. It has a central location, great meeting rooms, and accommodations for the 700 paid attendees that are the stated cap by the con com. That said, and even allowing that they are in the middle of major renovations, I heard no positive comments from anyone regarding their rooms or the ability of the hotel to meet even their stated services.
Of course the last location before this one it was not safe in the parking lot unarmed or in groups, and the meeting rooms were cramped with much over 50 bodies, so be careful what you wish for. Change is not always towards the positive.
IIRC, since I had family and college buddies in Chattanooga, there’s not really another hotel-with-convention-facilities in the metro area.
Having to an academic meeting where the hotels suggested that convention attendees not go out at night on foot in groups of less than four, I can sympathize with trying to find safe, convenient, workable venue and housing.
Last time I went to LibertyCon it was in Ringgold. I didn’t feel unsafe there, of course I was armed, but I usually notice if I am in a sufficiently bad area to feel unsafe. I think that was number 20 or so, maybe it got worse.
Back in April, we were coming down I-75 out of Chattanooga and stopped somewhere around Dalton or Ringgold to eat. It was some locally owned place and the staff was nice enough. The other guests, however . . . well, I wasn’t impressed. Left not wanting to ever return.
This is going to be a long series, isn’t it? Makes me feel not so bad about mine. Of course, I’ve got a sick computer that’s impeding me. (Avoid Seagate drives).