It was 3am in Saskatoon, and the city was utterly empty--of life, of movement, of cars. I surveyed Idywyld Drive from the back seat of the cab and wondered what the hell I was thinking when I suggested it might be cool to explore Saskatoon. It's just--I had a feeling about the place--a spidey sense.
At the Hotel Senator, Chad let us into the century-old building and looked up our reservation.
"Shit," he swore. Michelle and I figured if you're working front desk at three in the morning, it's okay to swear. "It looks like your room got given that fucking asshole--pardon my language."
The only thing we could tell was that the fucking asshole was 23-years-old and had a real bad attitude. Chad wished he wasn't in the hotel in the first place.
"At least there's no bands here," Chad told us as he searched for another room, "The last band peed on the door." Michelle and I looked at each other, bleary, grumpy.
"Er, I re-confirmed that room two hours ago," she hinted, "You even gave me the room number: 115."
Chad looked apologetic but brisk."Let's see what we can do here--tell you what, I'll give you the Jacuzzi suite," he offered.
Sure, we nodded. "Um, will you be coming up to make up the fold-out bed?" I asked Chad of the suite's second bed.
"Not a chance," he grinned, "Have a good night!"
I don't know why, but there was something likable about Chad. He had an evil sense of humour and wasn't afraid to use it at 3am in the morning. We loaded our bikes and gear on the bellboy cart, and headed upstairs to the Jacuzzi suite. View photos.