Attn: All personnel including Irene
Camelback Mountain Resort
301 Resort Dr.
Tannersville, PA 18372
I humbly write to you today, one month, one week, and one day after “experiencing” your establishment on the occasion of my twin niece and nephew’s Sweet 16. Yes, some time has passed since we became acquainted, yet the memory of your commitment to serving fresh hell wafts through my
dreams nightmares as though t’were yesterday.
I shan’t soon forget how you forced me into a serpentine line as long and disturbing as John Mayer’s dating history in order to acquire what you casually referred to as “wrist bands,” but what I soon came to learn were our room keys. A room key in plastic! Upon my wrist! Beneath which untold germs, mold, and general discomfort could mightily persist!
My shock had yet truly taken hold, for soon I entered the chamber with which my wrist band provided access. You call this a “queen” bed? A queen of what land? Methinks you would make a killing in the fairytale business.
I can scarcely speak of what happened next. Surely -surely- your founders grasped math and commerce’s fundamental principles when devising your arcade ticketing system. I’ve no doubt the Laser Tag council spent long hours debating the most reasonable fee for 127 seconds of disappointment. Yet, when I completed this “game,” along with my sister, niece, nephew and three of their dear friends, why, I realized we’d spent $87.19!
We tried not to let this faze us, nor did we let the ghastly humidity levels of your indoor water park overcome our senses, because we had a grand feast ahead. A hand-delivered smorgasbord of pizza and cake! Why, what better way to celebrate the birth of two 16-year-olds who successfully emerged from my sister’s womb with minimal physical
and only slightly staggering emotional damage?
Imagine our surprise when, 45 minutes past the scheduled arrival time, Irene wheeled a rickety cart into our “suite,” rasping, “WHOSE BIRTHDAY IS IT? YOURS? SORRY WE DON’T HAVE ANY CANDLES. NOT ALLOWED.”
The teenage contingent bravely sampled the “pizza” and we mustered as much enthusiasm as we possibly could in front of the dim, lifeless “birthday” cake. We flicked the switch on the “fireplace” and stared at the snowless “mountains” just outside our window. “Can one snow tube without snow?” we wondered.
When the clock struck 10:30pm, my sister and I rocked each other to sleep. Not for comfort, of course. There was simply no other way we’d both fit on the bed.
Go Jules Go
12 thoughts on “Dear Camelback Mountain Resort: YOU SLEEP ON A BED OF LIES.”
I would love to see a picture of the aforementioned “pizza.” Remember, the family that survives an epically horrible vacation together — something, something, has more to complain about. Yay. Happy birthday to your niece and nephew!
Like bonding over a common enemy! Who knew even “pizza” had such powers…
I’m guessing the pizza wasn’t shown because it was found more appropriate use as a snow sled.
Even the man-made snow felt more authentic.
I remember checking out Camelback when we visited the Poconos. Of course most of that checking was done in the bar….
Sorry it was such a horrible experience!
Ha! Oh believe you me, my sister and I made a beeline for the bar right after we lost the teenagers inside the water park, I mean, right after we made sure they were safe and happy and good to go…
A perfectly reasonable response.
Maybe their queen bed is too small for a human queen, but it’s pretty roomy for a bee queen.
Admit it. You’re part of their marketing team, aren’t you?
No – it sounds like they don’t have a problem with marketing. They have a problem with living up to their marketing.
HA! <–actual *snort*