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It’s called a Hostel.
Discrimination!!!!
I am in a 17-person polyamorous relationship.
Only if she's not into showering alone.
I assume these communal rooms will have condom vending machines..
I’d stick with backpacker guest houses, thank you.
...check sanctuary cities across the US now...5 or 6 to a room for new arrivals a t taxpayer expense
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Ping.
Oh this will end well...
Although I have slept in a room with 14 giggling girls and three other chaperons.
Perhaps "slept" is the wrong word.
We occasionally sank into merciful unconsciousness.
I did one time. It was great. I met all sorts of new friends including a really loud guy they kept calling “DI” for some reason. Maybe those were his initials. He was our personal trainer and he kept wanting us to do pushups. Not much in the way of frills, and we had to make our own beds. And I didn’t see any chocolates on the pillows when we got back, either.
Extraordinarily gross. Ewww.
You mean, while sober?
All these queer proceedings increased my uncomfortableness, and seeing him now exhibiting strong symptoms of concluding his business operations, and jumping into bed with me, I thought it was high time, now or never, before the light was put out, to break the spell in which I had so long been bound.But the interval I spent in deliberating what to say, was a fatal one. Taking up his tomahawk from the table, he examined the head of it for an instant, and then holding it to the light, with his mouth at the handle, he puffed out great clouds of tobacco smoke. The next moment the light was extinguished, and this wild cannibal, tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into bed with me. I sang out, I could not help it now; and giving a sudden grunt of astonishment he began feeling me.
Stammering out something, I knew not what, I rolled away from him against the wall, and then conjured him, whoever or whatever he might be, to keep quiet, and let me get up and light the lamp again. But his guttural responses satisfied me at once that he but ill comprehended my meaning.
"Who-e debel you?"--he at last said--"you no speak-e, dam-me, I kill-e." And so saying the lighted tomahawk began flourishing about me in the dark.
"Landlord, for God's sake, Peter Coffin!" shouted I. "Landlord! Watch! Coffin! Angels! save me!"
"Speak-e! tell-ee me who-ee be, or dam-me, I kill-e!" again growled the cannibal, while his horrid flourishings of the tomahawk scattered the hot tobacco ashes about me till I thought my linen would get on fire. But thank heaven, at that moment the landlord came into the room light in hand, and leaping from the bed I ran up to him.
I’ve slept in such places. Typically they had an engine pulling it along tracks and a customs agent waking you up in the middle of the night to look at your passport. When you woke up people expected a different currency and spoke a different language.
The great Merle Haggard said it best: “From now on all of my friends are gonna’ be strangers.”
Few years back Continental Airlines cancelled flights due to lightning and paired tWO travellers in a hotel room. One guy raped the other guy. Bad idea.
The way I snore I’d wake up to an empty room.