May 8, 2008
Lewisboro Confidential
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Hitting the hay at the Hayloft
Hearing rumors of an imminent sale, and “good riddance” thought I, being thoroughly convinced along with everyone else that the Hayloft Motel was, at best, a blight on our fair upscale town, I ducked out one early eve to avoid “helping” with the kids’ homework, for as we all know the current high school load is impossible to discern and “helping” only further erodes the shaky foundation of The Glorious Dad in a teen’s eye.
Given to a sloth-like nature, I first scrolled down the easy Google pathway to so-called research and found our motel in South Salem rated number one out of one. Here, verbatim, is an old TripAdvisor review from “nonameFlorida.” Tell me, please, what parent would send a kid off into the world with “noname”?
“We booked a room at the Hayloft Motel because it was close to where we were to visit. We made a terrible mistake in paying up front in cash to the shirtless man at the front office for four nights. The room was disgusting, the small stall shower did not drain, there was what seemed to be bloodstains on the towels, there were no batteries in the remote for the TV, the room smelled like a combination of mildew and urine, it was awful in every way. When we informed the (still) shirtless man the next morning that we would be checking out we agreed to forfeit the charge for the second night’s stay, but we are still awaiting a refund for the third and fourth nights.”
OK, so let’s go and check this dump out before offloading the G-5 Cat bulldozers. Hmm ... wait. This doesn’t look so bad. The winding drive through a copse of hemlocks is actually quite nice. Very lush, well-tended green grass all around.
The walkway shone past all 11 tidy rooms. The fresh white paint gleamed. I think I even heard a bluebird. Where’s all the Mickey’s Big Mouth bottles and cars up on blocks? Also, where’s legendary contractors’ trucks parked next to BMWs belonging to frustrated housewives bored silly from volunteerism?
Where’s the Hay? I shouted by way of an opening salvo to Rich Guzzi, the amiable host. He was sporting a Silvio Dante (Sopranos) haircut and looking like possibly the only thing missing from his pirate-like demeanor was a large parrot. He showed me a sunny, well-maintained room. Spotless, in fact. Just the kind of place you’d look for traveling cross country or something, the kind of place to catch up on some reading and watch the traffic go by.
No bad hotel smells in any of the rooms, all nice and airy with a view of a big field in back. Although the pool has been thoughtfully filled in so there is no chance of drowning, there is a great freshwater pond in front with entertaining river otter. Mr. Guzzi said over the winter cars would stop on Route 35 and watch the otter jump in and out of the ice just like Scamper the Penguin.
The manager allowed he could answer a few questions. Since Le Château’s right down the block, does JPMorgan send customers over? “No. And I think that’s from another time period. Do you have some ID or a press card?” It’s probably on the dash of my car. So who is your typical customer? “Lots of seasonal horse groomers and trainers, relatives of people who really don’t like their relatives. Three-day stays, that’s what we look for. People who are renovating their places, in between moves.” Most famous? “Tom Selleck did a movie here.” OK, how about Norman Bates? See any guys with shovels walking around? “I get asked that a lot. No.”
The Hayloft is a classic piece of 1950s architecture. If anything, we should expand upon the “welcome stranger” idea and buy up the Indian Trading Post, chase the felons-on-the-lam out of the little rustic cabins, roll it on up here from its now inelegant position next to that four-lane nightmare they call Super 7, and place it next to the Hayloft. Kind of a theme park, along the lines of Colonial Williamsburg or Washington’s House. The John Jay Indians could re-enact war dances, have lacrosse matches on horseback with wooden sticks, throw some hay around, and burn some of those annoying witches — take advantage of our Salem namesake. We could eventually file a claim for Indian tribe status, get some slots and tax-free cigarettes.
How many kids do we have to lose them to that showy and immodest attraction, Manhattan? How can we keep ’em down on the farm if we don’t have some local fun place to go? We’ll soon have a population drain like South Dakota or Nebraska. As of right now we have no bowling alleys, no movie theaters, no video arcades, and no motels if this one gets plowed over, as rumor has it, for a child development and parenting place. Parenting? So we can chant and play on the floor with wooden toys in a pathetic attempt to connect with our offspring? As my friend Andy aptly put it: We are the only species on the planet that frets about this child rearing stuff. Have you ever seen an alligator in a parenting class?
And by the way, Ms. “nonameFlorida,” I’ll bet you “hit the Hay” free from worry about your kids being snatched by ’gators in the Hayloft pond!
I would rate this establishment a solid “A” for clean and comfy, a great manager and not expensive.
© Copyright 2008 by Hersam Acorn Newspapers
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