The San Diego Chronicles:Day 2

I awoke in the golden splendor of California. Having been a 21-year resident of my beloved state I expected sunshine, but nothing can really prepare you for the re-immersion into California weather after being away for so long. It was as if God coated his fist in sunshine and punched me in the face, and I spent the first two hours squinting like a nearsighted newborn. Passing through Sacramento and Los Angeles, I had the urge to go to a theme park, whose lack of presence in Oregon I find disturbing, but since we were on a mission we went to the second most magical place on earth: In-N-Out. Now I know everyone talks the place up like it’s the Shangri-La of burgers, and it is, but I learned long ago some people say they hate the Beatles just to be cool, so I didn’t want to run that risk with those among us that had not yet experienced the majesty of an animal style double-double before and kept my mouth shut. My devotion was rewarded by Max, who had never eaten there, reaffirming my faith in the best burger franchise on the west coast (suck it Burgerville). After rocking our way further south we finally landed at our destination.

Now, I had never stayed at a Marriot before (the Casillas clan is more of a Best Western crowd), so I was anticipating something pretty good from our convention hosts. I became quickly disillusioned as we ambled upward to our rooms, where I first noted the enormous volume of people trying to cram into the two functioning elevators; a minor inconvenience, but things really fell apart when we reached the rooms themselves. A mere $540 a night will apparently get you a single bed and a tiny balcony, internet access is $13 a day, parking in the hotel lot is another $13, with no kind of complimentary breakfast provided so you have to buy an eggs benedict for $25 or walk a few blocks. When we came down, they neglected to inform us (and apparently anyone else attending) that they required a fee to secure a room with two beds so as we only had access to two rooms that weren’t even big enough to fit a cot into a couple of us had to spend the night on the floor. Once we came downstairs to the pool though, it was apparent where at least some of the money went: the pool area was beautiful. Hammocks and round umbrella-laden cushions were everywhere, the fauna was lush and spilled over every vacant inch not coated in marble or pillows.

I almost forgave the shysters after experiencing that man-made paradise firsthand, but unfortunately I did not have enough time to lounge as we had a keynote speaker that very afternoon. It may have been the long drive, but I could not stay awake when she spoke. She seemed nice enough, a reporter on international affairs who was clearly passionate about her work, but transferring that passion to her audience seemed to be more of a challenge, at least from my perspective. I made badges for our group to pass the time and stay awake, but ended up nodding off for a few minutes near the end. After I woke up I was greeted to the news that there would be a mixer by the pool. After fitting as many wings as we could onto our tiny plates we clustered around a tiny table and I got a good look at our present peers. What struck me the most was how dressed up some of them were; James and I made an attempt at suiting up but it was clear we were the only ones in our party that matched with the crowd. Journalism is serious business elsewhere, it seems, and other papers were looking the part; the whole festival smelled of douchebaggery and I kept a wary eye out for telling signs that I had trapped myself for a weekend in a hotel full of bros. After our makeshift meal we set out into the night, heading to the store to buy some essentials, where I managed to find a pair of replacement sandals for the ones I had lost. The rest of the night was a blur of singing patriotic Canadian songs, arm wrestling competitions, and Christopher Walken impressions.
-To Be Continued