Should you nitpick a hotel at travel review sites?

It wasn't a bad motel. It wasn't great. On a San Jose, Calif., street lined with $400-a-night brand-name hotels, it was a scrappy independent, and it tried. Why, there was a plate of cookies on the counter at night. Coffee in the lobby 24/7, although you expected the pots were cold at 3 a.m. The ice machine didn't work, and the condition of the out-of-order sign suggested it hadn't chunked out a cube in a while. The room was clean; sure. The heater had a dusty busted grate, but it warmed up the room well without that clattering death rattle you get from old, ick motel appliances. The water pressure was enough to knock you flat, and the Wi-Fi was blazing.

And yet. Those towels.

They were small and thin and scratchy. The soap, tiny hard slabs of shellac that lent as much lather as a brick. The shampoo did not want to come out of the little bottles, and when you squeezed the cheap plastic it globbed out a bolus in your hand, then sucked it back up when you released the pressure on the bottle. All of these things said: No, we don't expect you back.

You resolve: I am so going to Yelp this towel situation. I began to write — and gave up shortly after I started, because WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE NOW? I didn't want to give them a bad rep when so much else was nice, or at least showed they tried. On the other hand, that had been the tenor of the reviews I'd read before I made the reservation, and no one had mentioned the towels. Could've been a game-changer, if only I'd known.

What to do? I could imagine writing a fair, honest review — and I could imagine the owner reading it, balling his fists in frustration. I know about the soap and shampoo! I bought them as part of a package from a motel supply company, and it'll be months until I go through them all. What about the TV? Did you not see the old reviews criticizing the TVs, and note that they're all new now? Do you know what that cost? Ah, I see you noticed that there was dirt on the windowsill in the second-floor landing. The housekeepers refuse to clean it, because it's not a room. The maintenance man refuses to clean it because he doesn't do housekeeping. I am sorry. Did you have a cookie?

Or so I can imagine.

I just didn't feel like complaining about bad towels and cheap soap. But if I'd complained and the manager had responded to my towel lament with fury and scorn, oh, then the Yelping would have been a vendetta that made 19th century Sicilians think "he's really taking it too far." That's what makes for a perfect Yelp indictment. The manager's response.

Reading Yelp or Travelocity or Expedia reviews of hotels is like walking over a field with a divining rod. You gather a sense of the place, and sometimes the rod dips down so strong you know you've found an essential truth that says "book elsewhere." Unless a place is a drug-and-bug-infested hot-sheet joint frequented exclusively by people who are not inclined to post reviews of the last place they injected meth, the reviews for middle- to lower-range hostels can vary madly. For example:

The Sands Motel is MY FAVORITE. Every time we're in Gloriosky Ohio we stay here its super nice and the help is always friendly. Great value for the money!!! Did I mention FREE TAP WATER.

The next review: Great place to die. If I could give no stars, I would. "No stars" is also a description of the universe when all the suns have burned out and the entire cosmos is dark and there is no heat whatsoever, but it would still not be as cold as our room because we couldn't turn the air conditioner off. It made a sound like a Model T trying to digest a bag of nails, too. The manager said he was sorry but he had no other rooms, and yelled at us when we asked for extra blankets because it was cold. (And I quote "what do I look like, a Walmart of more blankets?") I would have slept in my car but it was stolen out of the lot.

You suspect the first review is a plant, and the second an exaggeration, but only slightly.

Vicious reviewers usually zero in on the front desk staff, as if the people who operate a horrible motel can be expected to care that you woke up with 3,467 bedbug bites. They have to be there every day, and you can just drive off. But mostly people complain about the rooms. Some real examples from Yelp:

"The lobby has signs announcing you are not allowed to stand outside your room after 10 p.m., or have 'visitors' between the hours of 10 p.m. & 6 a.m. (In short, if you are looking for a prostitute, this motel might just fit the bill.)"

"Huge lowering of stars for suspicious oil stains on the sheets."

"Our door was broke and wouldn't latch shut. Thank god we were not robbed while we were out because we didn't notice it until my cat ran out the door because it didn't latch shut. now hes gone. maybe forever … very sad."

The hilarious bad motel review is an art form unto itself, and while its practitioners may be happy to labor in the shadows, it's not easy to find the true gems. The only reason I find them: I collect old motel postcards, and always google the places to see if they still exist. There's a certain tranche of two-story motel that was once on the outskirts but now sits on a busy commercial road in a city of 75,000 or more. Nine out of 10 times, the place is now a fleabag, and the reviews have a bright cruel hilarity that makes you wince — and laugh.

And sigh. In the postcards, the motels are new and happy; in the postcards, ladies in one-piece bathing suits pose on the diving board. Shiny cars in the lot; a fancy neon sign buzzing welcome. You can imagine a family on a road trip in the days before the chains, or a tired businessman posting a message home. X marks my room. It's sad to think it all went to hell, but at least there are reviews to keep us up to date. You've been warned.

By the way: San Jose, Hotel Aria. Nice people. You can buy a bar of Dove down the block for a buck, and you'll probably want to.