Why it’s best to book your own hotel room

Okay everyone, let give a big round of applause for Sarah Jane Klemis who wites the blog "Almost There". Okay, that's enough...really quiet down...that's better. Sarah travels a lot for business and one would think it would be routine after a while...or maybe...not so much. Enjoy.

Why it’s best to book your own hotel room
Picture this - you have a job that takes you to all corners of the world. To the outside eye it seems that you have a dream job. People picture you being chauffeured about, sitting in first class lounges, sipping champagne and sashaying from hotel to hotel – sounds glamorous doesn’t it?

Want the real picture…

Imagine this you’ve got your next assignment and you’ve just done an 80 hr week combined with traveling up and down the country, trying to pack the bare minimum, smelling socks left on the bed because you can’t remember whether they were clean or dirty and you’ve not been home in a century so washing your clothes is a mystery and actually a luxury - in fact your washing machine still has the protective plastic round it (huh) and cramming it all into your suitcase so you can carry on and don’t have to queue for hours.

Still think it’s glamorous J

So whilst you may think of me sitting in the top 5 star hotels I can guarantee I will be holding my breath, checking my beds and praying that the door on my hotel locks.

Among the pleasures of Rosie O’Mally’s vibrating hotel, I’ve stayed in Norman Bates’ deluxe broom closet in the states, what resembled Frankenstein’s Barn in Bratislava and I was propositioned by a 80 year old hotelier in Belgium, who actually got my mobile number from the hotel records and thought it would be awesome to whisper sweet nothings to me at 2am in the morning until I put my mobile phone to the radio to give him some gentle feedback.

My worse experience of a hotel was in my home country, the wonderful UK. I stayed in a 3 star hotel in Middlesbrough. I was tired, I had driven after a days work to arrive at 10.30pm to find the car park full, I drove round in circles for 20 minutes with the vague hope of finding a space only to dump it on the yellow lines outside the car park, little did I know they would tow my car rather than give me a ticket. I lugged my suitcase, laptop and training tools to the hotel reception to check in.

The lift wasn’t working so I lugged my baggage up 7 flights of stairs to a narrow corridor, vaguely resembling some 1940’s mental institution complete with ripped wallpaper, caged windows and flickering lights. When I got to my room the door was ajar. At this point I’m contemplating throwing it all in there and camping out in the hall or trape-zing back down 7 flights to ask the non English speaking receptionist why the hell my door is open. Oh what the hell, I pushed the door open with my foot and yelled – and I did yell – HELLLLOOOOO!!!!. Thankfully no one was in there.

I’m now having flash backs to the time I was sent to Bratislava and I was booked into a brothel, oops sorry a boutique hotel in the middle of Winter when the window wouldn’t shut and my door wouldn’t lock and I slept in a chair against the door in 3 of my thickest jumpers, wrapped up in a duvet, resembling a burrito – attractive much!

I looked around the room it was pleasant enough, bed – check, bathroom – check. I’m good. Room service was still available so I clocked the menu and decided on Salmon. I rang and placed my order and started unpacking, setting up everything I needed. My food arrived – it looked wonderful and smelled delicious, covered with a silver top hat to boot, I was hungry.

Imagine my delight when I lifted the lid and this sorry piece of pink flesh with a drizzling of olive oil, OK it was swimming in oil was plonked on the plate. OK where’s the rest of it? Where are the veggies? Where’s the potato’s – oh what the hell – I’m hungry. I wolfed it down quick smart and then flung the tray outside the door.

Ah bed! I’m just about ready for bed, so I brush my teeth, etc and turn back the covers…

Oh boy (not my actual words!) The sheet was crumpled and someone had left me a nice little surprise in between the duvet and the sheet. The smell hit me before I realized what it was and at that point I so wished I’d left the salmon swimming pathetically on the plate.

My phone rang and it was my boss, telling me that the trainer in London had just quit and I needed to be there in the morning. LONDON! I’m at the other end of the bloody country!
This was the point where I so politely told my then boss what he could do with his job! Surprisingly I’m still doing the same job for another company but I have one pre-requisite, I book my own accommodation.