Admit it. The allure of that hoity-toity hotel room can
be painfully short-lived. For some of us
the descent into anticlimax hell begins, fittingly enough, with the buzzkill of
realizing that the mini-bar is priced to kill a buzz, not promote one. It’s sobering to
say the least. And for the Vox water-drinking,
fifteen-dollar-snickers-in-a-plastic-tennis-ball container (one ball, min you)
amongst us, it’s t...
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