Marriott: Is it a coincidence that your name includes “riot?”

16 Apr

Last week I was on a whirlwind tour of New York and Connecticut, visiting four major clients in three days. I’m not sure what jackass drafted that meeting schedule (oh wait – that would be me!) but I had three 12-hour days without so much as a pee break unscheduled.

Suffice it to say, on Tuesday, following a sleepless night, a long day of work and a rainy commute that doubled my travel time, I was THRILLED to see my hotel.

After checking in, I strapped myself down with bags like a pack mule so I’d only have to take one trip to my room, where I had plans to eat dinner in bed before crashing for the night. Or so I thought.

When I got to my room, however, as soon as I had the door cracked, I was bowled over by a heat wave. Then, as I opened the door, I was greeted by a bag of trash… and two wildly unmade beds. It occurred to me that there might actually be people in this room, so I cautiously backed out and beat a quick path to the front desk.

The clerk was surprised to see me, probably because she thought the “free drink” coupon she’d given me would have occupied me for more than five minutes. “Um,” I started. “I think there’s some confusion. It seems you issued me a room that has not yet been visited by housekeeping.”

She was horrified, which was a good thing. I was so tired I would’ve lost my shit if she had asked why I thought this room hadn’t yet been cleaned. As she was programming a key for my new room, I shifted my bags around awkwardly. One of them clipped the edge of the reception desk — where I had a fresh pizza from Bertucci’s precariously balanced.

It flipped, landing (in the box) upside down on the floor. The desk clerk screamed, and while I would normally roll my eyes at the excessive reaction, it felt oddly empathetic. Like she KNEW how fixated I was on crawling into bed, gorging myself on this piping fresh pie before passing out with grease stains on my pillow.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, grabbing the box from the floor and trying not to cry, my plans dashed.

Ten minutes later I was settled into my new room, which was significantly cooler and cleaner than the previous option. Sitting in sweatpants and a tank top, I opened the pizza box, cringing to see that the toppings had, in fact, largely separated from the crust to cling to the box lid.

If only the drink coupon included delivery. I would’ve actually used it.

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