As of tomorrow night, I’ll be somewhat uncomfortably ensconced in the Hyatt Regency Chicago hotel — that’s not an invitation for stalkers, but if a dozen roses or a bottle of Bombay Sapphire showed up in my room I would be tickled — getting ready for a long slog through a week of aching feet, plastered on happy-customer-service-smiles, and logistical and financial nightmares arising from a hotel’s need to sell coffee at $58 per gallon. It would be so much cheaper to serve people Amoco Ultimate gasoline. And when you have a contract that states that a hotel ballroom is yours 24 hours a day from Tuesday to Sunday, how does the hotel interpret that as meaning that they can rent it out at night and dismantle all your equipment and staging?
This will be a fun week, no doubt about it.
