Fairfield Inn & Suites Charlotte Arrowood: When Free Still Isn’t Worth It

Sometimes, a hotel stay is just a place to lay a head for a few hours. After dinner with Airica, I drove about an hour and a half from Columbia, South Carolina, to the Fairfield Inn & Suites Charlotte Arrowood. The plan was simple: get some sleep and keep going in the morning.

I used Marriott Bonvoy points for this stay, so my out-of-pocket room cost was $0. Sounds like a win, right? Well, not every free night is a good deal.

Finding the Hotel and Checking In

The hotel sits back from the main road, and I actually missed the entrance on my first attempt. A quick trip around the block got me back on track.

Parking was easy. There were six accessible parking spaces, and when I arrived around 9 p.m., three were still available. I took one, leaving two for other guests who might need them.

Check-in was equally straightforward. One person was ahead of me, and the front desk staff member was friendly and efficient. She covered the usual information about Wi-Fi, breakfast, and coffee. I didn't get to experience breakfast because I left before it started at 6:30 a.m.

She wasn't particularly knowledgeable about the surrounding area, explaining that she drove about 40 minutes each way to work and wasn't from the neighborhood. Fair enough.

However, one thing immediately caught my attention: the glass partition between the two sliding entrance doors, with a pawn shop and a Chinese takeout business visible on the other side. In all my years of hotel stays, including some questionable properties, this was a first for me. It certainly wasn't the welcome I expected.

The elevator was conveniently located near reception. The hotel has three floors, and I was assigned Room 304 on the third floor.

The Cigarette Smoke Problem

Unfortunately, the experience began to go downhill before I even reached my room.

There is only one elevator, and as soon as I stepped out onto the third floor, I smelled cigarette smoke. When I opened the door to Room 304, a hearing- and wheelchair-accessible room, the odor was even more noticeable.

I wasn't interested in spending the next part of my evening negotiating for another room, so I decided to deal with it.

To give credit where it's due, the room itself was reasonably comfortable. Unlike some hotel rooms I've reviewed, this one was well lit. The bed was comfortable, the HVAC worked properly, the television functioned, and I had no trouble connecting to the Wi-Fi.

Those were the positives.

An Accessible Room That Missed the Mark

As a right above-the-knee amputee, I pay particular attention to hotel accessibility. I've written before about how businesses can technically meet accessibility requirements while still falling short of what disabled guests actually need.

This room was another example.

Yes, there were grab bars. Yes, the doorway was wide enough for wheelchair access. But accessibility involves more than checking a couple of boxes.

The bathroom had a bathtub rather than a roll-in shower. It had no removable handheld showerhead, shower chair, or stool. The bath products were mounted in the middle of the tub area, and there wasn't even any body wash.

Think about that for a moment.

Getting into and out of a bathtub can be particularly challenging for someone with a mobility disability. Without a shower chair, it becomes even harder. A handheld showerhead can also make bathing safer and more practical.

These aren't extravagant luxury requests. They're practical accommodations that can make a meaningful difference in someone's ability to use a bathroom safely and comfortably.

The room was labeled accessible, but the bathroom left me questioning how well the actual needs of disabled guests had been considered.

Checking Out Before Sunrise

I left around 5:30 a.m., well before breakfast was available. Nobody was at the front desk, so I walked out and left the checkout process to the hotel.

I've encountered this situation before, and I generally don't make a production out of it. The property can process the checkout when staff is available.

There were no major problems with the bed, television, climate control, or internet. If I were judging the room solely on those basics, the stay might have been perfectly adequate.

But the cigarette smoke and, more importantly, the shortcomings in the accessible bathroom overshadowed those positives.

Was It Worth the Points?

The room cost me $0 out of pocket because I redeemed Marriott Bonvoy points. Unfortunately, that doesn't automatically make it a good redemption.

I value my points because they can buy stays that are comfortable, convenient, and worth the effort of traveling. This experience didn't meet that standard.

The friendly front desk agent, comfortable bed, good lighting, and working amenities deserve credit. However, the smoke odor and the lack of essential bathroom features for someone with mobility limitations were significant negatives.

Would I stay here again? No. Would I pay cash for a room here? Absolutely not.

A free hotel room should still provide a reasonable experience, and an accessible room should offer more than the bare minimum.

This stay reminded me that the lowest price isn't always the best value, even when it’s zero.

Until next time, safe travels—and remember that accessibility is about more than a label on a reservation.

Parking Like You're Riding a Harley? This Ford Escape Missed the Mark!

Sometimes I wonder if driver's education needs a refresher course in parking.

I was staying at a Fairfield Inn about 15 minutes from Charlotte Douglas International Airport (CLT). I'll save the details of my hotel experience for another blog post, but this little adventure happened when I got up and headed out to my car.

And then I saw this beauty of a parking job.

A black Ford Escape was parked diagonally across the parking-space line, its front end intruding into the neighboring space. A handicap symbol is even painted on the pavement nearby, making the whole scene a little more interesting.

Now, I noticed the Harley-Davidson placard on the front bumper. So naturally, my imagination started working overtime.

Maybe the driver thought they were parking their HOG and figured the passenger side was the center of the motorcycle? Perhaps they were still mentally cruising down the highway and forgot they were driving a four-wheeled vehicle.

Okay, I know. That explanation makes absolutely no sense. Neither does this parking job!

Come on, people! The lines are there for a reason. They're not decorative suggestions, and parking spaces aren't a game of automotive Twister.

As someone who lives with a disability, I pay attention to how people use parking spaces. A little consideration goes a long way, especially when accessible parking and enough room to get in and out of a vehicle matter.

I'm not suggesting every parking mistake deserves a public investigation. We've all had moments when we needed to straighten up. But there's a difference between being a little off-center and leaving your vehicle straddling a line like it owns the place.

The takeaway? Take five seconds, check your parking, and straighten the car before walking away. Your fellow drivers will thank you.

And to the driver of this Ford Escape: I hope you enjoyed your stay. Next time, let's leave the Harley-Davidson parking technique for the motorcycle!

What is wrong with this picture?

Accessibility Should Start in the Parking Lot

I was at the Harris Teeter in the Rivertowne area on Thursday and saw these electric shopping scooters parked inside. Most of you might not notice anything wrong. In my opinion, though, this picture shows a gap in how we think about accessibility.

First, let me say thank you to Harris Teeter for providing this equipment for customers with mobility issues, including me. These scooters make grocery shopping easier and less stressful. I appreciate having them available.

Here is where my opinion may be controversial—or perhaps seem petty to someone who has never struggled to walk across a parking lot.

The scooters are inside.

Someone who needs one must first get from their vehicle to the store and through the entrance before reaching the equipment that helps them get around. For some customers, that journey is already difficult.

The help is there. But you have to reach it first.

I do not know whether stores are required under the Americans with Disabilities Act to provide these scooters. My concern is about the everyday experience of using them. From my perspective, providing mobility assistance only after someone gets inside feels like a half-measure.

I have suggested keeping scooters in a designated, sheltered area near the accessible parking spaces during store hours, with the spaces and access aisles kept clear. Employees who collect shopping carts could check that area and bring the scooters inside when the store closes.

I understand these machines are expensive. Weather, charging, security, and upkeep all need to be considered. That is why I am suggesting a managed arrangement during business hours. If outdoor storage isn't practical, an easy way to request a scooter from the parking lot could help close that gap.

The people who need these devices should have a say in where and how they are made available.

I have written reviews of hotels where, from my experience as a guest with mobility issues, the approach to accessibility felt like doing the minimum—especially in bathrooms. A feature can be present and still be awkward or difficult to use. The details matter when you are the person depending on them.

I would love to see a company take the lead by asking customers, “What would make your visit easier from the moment you arrive?”

I believe that kind of care could bring a meaningful return through loyalty, repeat visits, and recommendations. When a business makes an everyday task easier, people remember.

So, thank you, Harris Teeter, for providing these scooters. They make a difference to customers like me.

Please consider taking that care a few steps farther—out to the parking lot, where we may need it first.

My Eyes Weren’t Playing Tricks—That Is Not a Parking Space

After dialysis, I made the 30-minute drive to Retina Consultants of South Carolina in Ladson for my eye appointment.

Apparently, the parking lot decided to test my vision before the doctor could.

I saw a vehicle parked in a spot that was not actually a parking space, squeezed unbelievably close to the cars beside it. I am not sure the pictures fully capture just how little room was left between the vehicles.

Maybe this was part of my eye exam:

“Niel, can you identify the illegally parked vehicle?”

Yes. Yes, I can.

The scene reminded me of something that happened many years ago after a business trip. At the time, I was neither physically nor emotionally sober.

I returned to the long-term parking lot at O’Hare, exited the train, and walked down the stairs. My car was parked nearby, which should have been a pleasant surprise after traveling.

Instead, someone had parked beside me in a space that did not exist. Their car was so close to mine that I could not open the driver’s door.

I had to climb into my car through the passenger side—all 350 pounds of me, at least—and maneuver myself across the center console into the driver’s seat.

But before I did that, I gave the illegal parker a reason to get a new paint job.

That was not my proudest moment.

Let me be clear: damaging someone’s vehicle was wrong. Their terrible parking did not justify my response. That story is not advice or something I am celebrating. It is simply an honest example of who I was at the time and how poorly I handled anger and frustration.

Today, I respond differently.

I take a picture. I write a blog post. I point out the problem without creating a bigger one—and without adding an appointment at the body shop to someone’s calendar.

Still, parking in a space that does not exist and leaving barely enough room for other drivers to enter their vehicles is selfish. You do not know whether the person beside you has limited mobility, uses a wheelchair or prosthetic, or physically cannot climb through the passenger side.

And no one—especially after dialysis and on the way to a retina appointment—should have to perform parking-lot gymnastics because you decided the painted lines were merely suggestions.

My eyes may be recovering, but even I could see that was not a parking space.

Be better, people. Be better.

A Parking Job So Bad It Needed Emergency Care

I was visiting my mother at Roper St. Francis in Mount Pleasant when I left for a few hours to attend a recovery meeting.

On my way out, I saw this car parked outside the Emergency Department.

Or at least I think it was parked. It appeared to have simply stopped wherever it lost interest in moving.

Now, because this was outside the Emergency Department, I kind of understand. Emergencies are emergencies. Sometimes you pull up, get someone inside, and worry about the car afterward.

I have my own story.

When my ex-wife was about to give birth to our son—our second child—she waited until nearly the last possible moment to announce that it was time to go to the hospital.

On the way there, I may have run a few red lights. I did honk as I approached them to warn people that a panicked father-to-be was coming through.

When we reached the Emergency Department, I jumped out, ran inside, and grabbed a wheelchair. My ex-wife was still sitting in the car. I got her into the wheelchair and rushed her inside.

Meanwhile, the car was still running, the keys were still in it, and the doors were wide open.

Was that proper parking etiquette?

Absolutely not.

But a baby was arriving, and my priorities were clear: mother, baby, and then the unattended getaway car sitting outside.

So yes, I can understand a bad parking job at an emergency room—at least temporarily.

But the car I saw at Roper St. Francis was on another level. It was sitting crooked across the blue-striped access aisle next to an accessible parking space, looking less like someone had parked it and more like it had been abandoned mid-thought.

Those striped areas are not bonus parking spaces. They provide the room people need to deploy wheelchair ramps, use mobility equipment, and safely enter or exit their vehicles.

When I returned from my recovery meeting, the car was gone.

Hopefully, whatever brought the driver to the Emergency Department turned out okay.

Or perhaps the car had simply been moved to another part of the parking lot—where it was parked just as horribly.

Either way, emergencies may explain a rushed arrival. They do not turn an access aisle into a parking space indefinitely.

Be safe. Be considerate. And once the emergency is under control, please go back and park the car between two actual lines.