Omni Parker House

Great stay. We were here for our wedding weekend and it was magical. Great service and gorgeous interior, lots of history here. The service at the front desk was great, and one of the concierge Daniel helped us with our bags. Everything was in working order.

Enjoyed an overnight on business and splurged on an executive suite. Beautiful views of downtown. The room was old school Boston and fine for a night. The bathroom was older school Boston and need of a serious upgrade. Then turning on the shower there was no hot water and the shower head was small and unsatisfactory. I don’t know what was going on with the water but for the prices you pay for the rooms the bathroom needs to be a lot nicer.

We knew we were staying at one of the oldest hotel in Boston, but didn't expect how dated it was. The room was small and furniture was very old. Wallpaper was peeling from the wall and there was a big stain on the rug. The hair on the floor of the bathroom didn't give us a feeling the the room was as clean as possible. The hotel clearly needs to be refreshed. The wood paneled elevators were scratched and bang up, almost more like a service elevator, and something that could easily been maintained. The clerk at the check in desk was nice and helpful, unfortunately that was the last time we felt that way, all other interactions were either unfriendly bordering on rude/snotty, not the attitude were expected at a hotel with a reputation like that.

The hotel and staff were lovely but we were not warned that construction works were being carried out in the hotel and directly above our room. This meant two early wakeups during to drilling and falling debris falling on floor above. We mentioned it to a manager during a fire alarm incident and they laughed it off saying builders will be builders and reception were also dismissive. Had we known in advance we would have booked another hotel.

Last night, stripped out of water logged clothing. I particularly hate cold wet socks with my feet wedged into wet shoes. The walls of the hotel room started to beep loudly, announce that the building was under attack, order me to seek the nearest stair and proceed to evacuate. I'm used to the Google device misunderstanding our conversation and suddenly playing Gilbert & Sullivan radio. The birds love it. But I'm skeptical when it comes to wet clothes. I look out in the hallway to see if there are other people seeking a meaning to their wandering. I appear to be alone. So, I put on my pants, and my socks, and my shoes, and my layer shirt and my black stalker hoodie and my burgundy hat (slogan: I'll Tread Wherever I Want) and go out into the hall. I don't exactly cherish the idea of going back out into the raging winter rain storm. I'm reminded as a kid of delivering newspapers on foot on my five mile route during a blinding blizzard of white snow in the night. I still regret not being awarded newspaper boy of the month. Anyways. Half way round the route I would be awarded by the ancient Campbell sisters with fresh made chocolate fudge with walnuts. But in this case on this night I'm wandering around in empty hallways following one red exit sign to another red exit sign with no clue where is the stairway. This is not a dream, though it does end. A woman dressed in white asks me if we are supposed to leave the building. Ah, here is a door to a stair. I tell her that I have no clue but that it seems like we can do what the room had said, and see. I begin to wonder if this is a fire or a hostage situation as we descend, or maybe a John Wick extravaganza. Curious, maybe I should go up the stair to the as advertised ballroom. Though risking it be an ocean of red blood. On the train up we got delayed as a dumpster had been blown across the tracks. I started to giggle as the last time I remember being on a delayed train was in winter for five hours as a car with a family aboard had been struck across the tracks. Then I wondered what size dumpster it could be blown by the wind. I started with a 20 yarder, worked down to a ten, then, as we did not wait long, figured it had to have been a rogue one-yarder on wheels. I suppose some of our life does pass before our eyes when faced with a crisis. As we went downward, my following the lady in white, doors on lower floors kept opening, banging into us, apologies delivered. The woman in white started to stop to let new arrivals onto the stairs. I thought, "Gosh, lady, please keep moving. Our lives may be at risk." Then we entered the lobby where the hotel staff told us to hang out and we would be safe. I've learned over decades not to have trust in proclamations. In the nearby bar room there was quite a party going on, men in gray suits. They did not appear to be existentially concerned, possibly already on the verge of tipsy. A young lady fought her way from the drenched outside to the safe inside with a humongous white plastic bag filled with blue helium balloons. Go figure. I looked around and went and found a plush chair to sit. Relief to avoid the storm. There was a lot of beeping noise as I watched the hotel clerk pace around a well lit closet with red boxes and small flashing lights. I have always enjoyed watching people at work. This went on, him in the closet, him out of the closet, in again, out again, then he picked out of a red box a black wired phone. Rigid in posture he announced that all is well, we are safe and can go about our usual activities. I then, ever briefly, wondered what my usual activity would be. A young woman in black sitting on an adjacent couch, we smiled at each other.