I'm planning a vacation, and like everything else in my life it's got to be on a budget. In desperation I turned to Priceline.
Priceline has always annoyed me. Obviously there's William Shatner. We're supposed to trust this man? He can't act. His toupee looks like a furry Roomba. He thought the world wanted to hear him sing Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
Even more questionable is their business model, where you bid X amount of dollars for any X-star hotel in the neighborhood you choose. See, they get to draw up the maps -- and their maps that cover nice neighborhoods also cover quite a bit of slum. Who says the Latin Quarter doesn't extend halfway to Mexico? Where's it written that the Eiffel Tower district doesn't include Romania? And they get to decide which hotels are two-star, three-star, four-star. Who says four-star hotels always have fitness centers, or concierge service, or roofs?
On closer examination, we realize this odd little system sounds familiar. It's like those gumball machines with cool stuff on top and crap on the bottom. It's like those postcards from timeshare companies: YOU'VE WON A MERCEDES BENZ! they shout. Or a BEACHFRONT CONDO IN CANCUN!
Then, down at the bottom: Or a rub-on tattoo of a monkey.
Priceline proudly advertises all the wonderful establishments they offer: YOU COULD GET THE RITZ! OR THE PLAZA! OR THE FOUR SEASONS!
Or the Stansted Airport Travelodge.
And, in fact, you probably will.
Judging from all the online complaints, Priceline makes absolutely no apologies. Whereas Travelocity and Expedia have mottos like, "We won't rest until you're happy," Priceline's is something like, "Hey, we never promised anything." They set the rules, and you roll the dice. You wait for their decision with trembling hands, like your computer's a slot machine.
"Congratulations!" comes the announcement. "You're staying at the New Delhi Dayz Inn!"
So, I'm a gambler. I'm cheap, and I'm desperate. The good news is, yes, I'm going to Paris.
Now if I can just find a rickshaw into town I'll be set.
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