Well, actually, it started last night. Went to check into the hotel. Verified with the barely-speaks-English desk clerk that the room she gave me was a smoking room (people - just don’t go there. don’t do it. )

As I was walking away, I decided that I needed to verify - I mean honestly, I stay at this hotel every month and can’t ever remember being on the 14th floor. I stopped another desk clerk and said to her:

“Can you verify that smoking is allowed on the 14th floor?” She said,

“Um. Yes. 14th, 12th, and 3rd.”

Alright then. I guess it’s just strange that I never got a room on 14. I make my way merrily to the elevator. I get off the elevator. I look at the sign that says:

NO SMOKING

It doesn’t register.

I go into my room.

On the desk, where I normally find an ashtry and a book of matches (since you can’t fly with lighters anymore, I really rely on these….), there is a sign that says:

NO SMOKING

Hm. Walk to the phone. Dial front desk.

“Excuse me. This is The Hotfessional. I just checked in. I was told that my room was a smoking room. I’m on 14, and there’s signs all over the room that say: NO SMOKING.”

“Um. Yes ma’am. Just a moment.”

So, I wait. On hold. Then this:

“Ma’am, we’re moving you to 1208. A bellman will meet you there with a key.”

—- So, how sad is that? Either I travel too much, or the Crowne Plaza really needs my help. —-

The Manager’s Dinner is tonight. We’re leaving early enough to sit outside (hopefully), since it’s 85 and beeee-yooo-teeee-full in Chicago. I’m sure there will be stories to tell.

Coincidentally, we found out that a group of ex-employees have a networking group that is ALSO meeting there tonight. We may just end up taking over the riverfront.

—- Let’s assume that one of the stories for tomorrow will end: ‘And then they toppled off into the Chicago River’. —-

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