A Tale of Two "Hotel" Rooms

So I went travelling by myself this past weekend to Normandy and Brittany to see the WWII historical sites and the ocean. My first day was spent in Bayeux in this amazing chateau/guesthouse where my bed had a giant headboard, an embroidered duvet cover, and a shower with actual hot water. AND a television! I felt like royalty for only 45 euros a night. When you live in an apartment with virtually no hot water and sleep on a two-inch foam pad instead of a mattress, these things make your whole week.
After a long day of touring the WWII sites with Bertrand, my French tour guide, I came home and just layed in my fabulous bed and watched ridiculous French game shows all night long. It was glorious.
The next morning, I left for Mont St. Michel, this really ornate church literally in the middle of nowhere in the English Channel. My train left really early, and as you probably know, I am not a morning person. OF COURSE, who is on my train out of all the people in the entire city? Bertrand the tour guide. Yes, I had to chat it up en francais for two hours about my favorite subjects like "I didn't vote for President Bush so don't blame me" and "What the French really think about Americans" when all I wanted was sleep.
So I get to Pontorson, a village in the middle of serious nothingness, to go to Mt. St. Michel. I go see the church, blah blah, and make it back to this village within 2 hours, as I am an efficient sightseer. Well, in small French villages, train stations just shut down for hours in the middle of the day. So I stood in the pouring rain for SIX HOURS waiting to buy a ticket for the next wretched train. Needless to say, day 2 is not going well.
So I finally make it to my next stop, the walled city of St. Malo on the Brittany Coast. The train station is a 20 min walk to town, so I walked to the city in search of my hotel, which is nowhere to be found. After an hour of wandering aimlessly, I give up and go to the Tourist Office, where I am informed that my "hotel" is in an INDUSTRIAL PARK 30 MIN AWAY. Online, it advertised that it was 100 meters from the beach in the center of town. Now hungry, exhausted and irate, I book it to the train station to try to go back to Paris immediately. Since customer service does not exist here, I could not exchange my ticket because I got a student fare, and thus paid $5 less than the other ticketholders. So I am now forced to spend the night in an industrial zone, fantastic.
The "hotel" was worse than I imagined. Let's do the checklist:
1) Above a bar and run by a shady robe-wearing barmaid? Check.
2) Graffiti on the walls? Check.
3) Drunk people asleep in the stairwells? Check.
4) A communal toilet that defies description. Check.

Let's just say that this place made Tom Hanks's first apartment in Big look like a palace. So I didn't leave the room at all, didn't pee for 12 hours, and cried in the fetal position until I sort of fell asleep on top of the covers, and a towel, in my clothes.
I won't go into the next day but let's just say someone decided to committ suicide on my train line and it took me 7 HOURS to get back to Paris. My unluckiness is absolutely legendary.