Last night I stayed in a dingy hostel with what I shall crown the worst bed ever.
The rickety bunk bed creaked and squeaked as I looked for a way to clamber atop. As I searched for footholds, it was revealed that this is the kind of bed you would find at your grandparents’ place that hails from the fifties or sixties. You know the type with the metal mesh that is suspended trampoline style in the frame. The type that can’t do anything but sag really.
Atop the saggy bed was a very sad mattress. It had clearly seen better days, but now, after much tossing and turning of backpackers upon it, it is so mean and bitter as to stab you with the springs inside it. I will even go so far as to say there is nothing soft about it, not even the covering. Just tired metal coils to stick and poke as you lay like a banana and will sleep to come quickly.
Each tiny move you made, be it bodily or adjusting the position of your foot, caused the bed to squeal and rock, creating more metallic creaking sounds.
This bed is even worse than the dodgy, broken bed I bought in LA.
So, I moved on and pitched my tent in a campground where I could get a comfortable night’s sleep on my queen sized airbed.