100,240. That’s
the exact current real-time balance in my Aeroplan frequent flyer account. Lots of people have lots more miles than me,
but I use mine. These are the
miles I’ve earned this year.
Still, it’s not a huge number when compared to some other road warriors.
My flights are typically short-haul
within Canada so I earn 500 miles here and 1000 miles there… I’m certainly no George
Clooney in Up In The Air, the movie where he earns his millionth mile and joins
a very exclusive club, but I'm no slouch, either.
Most people think that business travel is a perk. They think it’s exciting, and that it’s
something that you earn. While
there are certainly benefits, like the air miles, to be enjoyed later, there is
almost nothing that’s exciting about business travel. My lovely wife, Laura, calls my trips ‘my little
holidays’…and I can understand that as a mother of three who is often left alone to parent three growing girls on her own, why she would see a few days away as a holiday.
What Laura and lots of other spouses of road warriors don’t
see is the loneliness and boredom of business travel. They don’t experience the discomfort of eating alone in restaurants. They don't experience the pleasure of a regular pat-down by airport security. They don’t experience the joy of turning the water on in the
shower of a 4 star hotel and finding somebody else’s short curly hairs stuck to
the bar of soap in a shower stall that clearly hasn’t been cleaned.
That actually happened. I flew to Calgary for a conference at which I was speaking
and was booked into a pretty posh place.
After a long flight with lots of delays, a longer cab ride from the airport,
and a long wait for a check-in, I got to my room and decided to take a
shower. I went in, opened the
glass shower door, and found an open bar of soap with somebody’s short and
curlies stuck to it. One
word. Ewww.
So I called the front desk, spoke to the very apologetic and
equally grossed out clerk, and to his credit, within minutes, housekeeping was
at my door. They quickly cleaned
the bathroom, exorcising it of all random pubic hair, and took off. I showered and went out for
dinner. When I returned, there was
a plate of chocolate covered strawberries waiting for me with a note from the
manager. A nice touch, but it’s a
pretty grody way to have to earn some free fruit.
I am a very loyal hotel guest. I see the value of frequent guest programs. I know what I’m entitled to, because
God knows I’ve earned it. If I’m
entitled to an upgrade, don’t make me ask for it. If there’s a speedy check-in process, please make sure it’s
speedy. If I’m entitled to a late
check-out or a free breakfast, don’t make me jump through hoops to get it. And the simplest of all…please, please,
please welcome me back. Having
worked in the hotel business for many years, I know how easy it is. We have computers now…and they tell you
everything. I’ve been staying at the Residence Inn-Westmount in Montreal almost all year, and I have to say, they make me
feel special. They look happy to
see me, they ask about my family (I had them there for a few days, and now,
almost every time I’m there, they ask about my wife, or the girls), and they
know what I value. It’s
consistency, predictability and a friendly welcome.
I once stayed in a hotel in Winnipeg every other week for a year. I was a platinum member of their rewards program. Every time I checked in it was like the very first time I was there. Every two weeks, the same question…”Oh, Mr. Slater, have you stayed with us before?” I get that I’m ultimately forgettable, but you have a freaking computer that should be flashing at you when I get there. Every week it was a different type of room-smoking and non-smoking, single beds, double beds, queen beds and king beds. I think I even had a Murphy bed. Never a bunk bed. Sometimes it was up high, and sometimes it was down low, sometimes an upgrade, and often a downgrade. Occasionally breakfast. And never, and I mean never, in over a year did I hear the words Welcome Back. I only stayed there because I could see my office from the front door, and because I was madly banking points in their hotel program. In a karmic twist, I think they lost their branding, went belly-up, and they’re no longer a hotel.
If you are a road warrior, you’ve likely checked into a
hotel late at night and heard the unfortunate words, ”… all we have for you is
a parlour.” A parlour is not as
delightful and cozy as it sounds.
What it is, is a hotel room without a bed. It’s the living room portion of a suite with a pull-out sofa. When a guest doesn’t want the
connecting living room (or parlour), it’s locked off, and when things are
tight, and all the rooms with real beds are taken, parlours are given to guests
arriving at the end of the night.
I arrived late one night in Ottawa. I knew the city was busy since I
couldn’t get into my normal hotel.
It was after 11pm when I arrived, and I just had a feeling I was going
to parloured, as, having been a night clerk before, I’ve parloured many, many late-arriving
guests. Typically with a discount
(even free), and breakfast and other amenities to soften the blow of not having
a real bed. Buddy at the
desk gave me the parlour look, and said, “Mr. Slater, I have a deal for you…”,
to which I responded, “You’re going to parlour me, aren’t you?” He was completely surprised by my
psychic ability, and offered me 25% off and free breakfast to sleep either in a
cot, or in the pull out sofa. I
chose the cot, and headed for my room.
My cot arrived, and my feet hung off the end. It was so low to the floor that it felt
like I was camping. They also sent
me up two bottles of dasani water for my troubles. Long story short, I couldn’t sleep, and had to be up to
deliver a webinar at 7:45 am, which I intended to do from my hotel, before I
went to the office to terminate someone, the only reason for my trip. I finally fell asleep about 6am, and of course the alarm didn’t go off, but
miraculously, I woke up at 7:40. I
logged into my computer and dialed into the conference line just in time to
welcome the guests to the call.
I was about 5 minutes into the call as I glanced into the
mirror, and in another proud professional moment, saw myself standing there,
hair askew, in my underwear, delivering a web-based seminar on the subject of
Calculating Return on Investment to a group of customers. Thank God for everyone that this was the
pre-Skype era. The check out
process was brutal because the discount hadn’t been applied, and to boot, I
was too rushed for my free breakfast.
It took a half an hour to check out, and by that time, I was late for
the termination. I got to the
office, and the employee who wasn’t expecting to see me said, ‘Oh hi, you’re
not here to fire me, are you?”, then giggled. That’s the kind of trip it was.
So, just like in the movie, I have a set of clothes that is always ready to go. I have my
toiletries in the zip lock bag. I
wear loafers to go through security.
I seek out the lines where nobody's going to hold me up. I use all the privileges I’ve earned as
a frequent flier and frequent guest.
While these privileges sometimes make things more comfortable, they don’t make up for being
away, they don’t make up for all the time in airports and on planes and in taxis, and
they don’t turn traveling for work into a vacation. And they certainly don’t make up for having to deal with
somebody's left over pubes.
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