We were looking for a place to stay last night in Estes Park, a resort town just outside of Rocky Mountain National Park. During the summer, the place is apparently over run with tourist families, but in December it’s a ghost town and lodging prices plummet. After walking out on one proprietress of a near-empty hotel who wouldn’t come down more than 5% on her price, we walked into a lobby presided over by a sweet, grandmotherly old lady named LuJean Dunlap.
She was cheerfully plump, with a knitted sweatshirt, bifocals, and a kind smile. But let me tell you, this little old lady was a straight hustler. We asked about rates for the night, and she trotted out the high-end stuff first:
“I’ve got a beautiful cabin, right on the river, hot tub, fireplace, kitchen, barbeque grill, doesn’t that sound like fun? That goes for $180.” She smiled encouragingly but we just gave her the silent treatment until she continued.
“Our intermediate lodges have fireplace and kitchen, they’re two-room suites, those go for $115.” Silence.
“And then I’ve got motel rooms,” she said with a discouraging frown. “Just a standard room, one queen and one twin, for $50.”
We smiled and looked each other. “That sounds good,” we told her.
Without missing a beat, LuJean came right back with, “What if I gave you the intermediate lodge for $85? Could you do $85?” We agreed to check it out. Unfortunately, the fireplace wasn’t really a plus: the whole place smelled like stale smoke, the kind that never comes out of your clothing. I hated to disappoint old LuJean, but I had to bring back the key and take the cheapskate motel room. I left her a $5 tip for hustling like a pro, though.