Molly Laurence -- Straight Into Compton

Greetings from Atlanta!

This year, thanks to the help of our genius meeting guru (we'll call her Maggie Malone to protect her innocence) we signed a contract to do 75% of our programs at Kimpton Hotels. While everyone else was excited about their affordable room rates and great selection of perks, "Maggie" and I were excited about their pet-friendly policies (most Kimpton properties provide lonely travelers with a goldfish to keep them company during their stay) and free evening wine hour. We waited patiently for six months until the first of our Kimpton meeting came along and finally, today, it came! I traveled to Atlanta, anxiously anticipating my meeting with my first finned-friend and arrived here to a distraught message from Maggie alerting me to the fact that this particular branch does not have the goldfish program (GASP!) I was on the verge of honest to god tears when I reminded myself that I am 30 and that I don't need a goldfish (:()

I arrived at the hotel after a harrowing cab ride in which my driver, rather than going around the block, backed his way 3/4 of a block down Peachtree Street. I checked in and was directed to a lovely room with a king bed, animal print robes, and no fish. Moments later I got a message from my hotel contact apologizing and saying that I should be in a suite and if I could just make myself at home for a little while, they would have it ready shortly. Maggie informed me that they were working on a "surprise" to make up for the fish disappointment which slightly cheered me as I lay down, with a robe over all of my clothes, for a nap.

I awoke and was taken to my suite -- which is beautiful -- and included not one, not two, but THREE goldfish. I don't know where they got these goldfish but I immediately named them (Rocco, Flips, and Dixie). After staring blindly at them for 20 minutes, I started to unpack and went into the bathroom where I was shocked to find a "soaking tub". It's basically a jacuzzi in my room! So I did what any normal person would do -- I dressed a pillow in an animal print robe, placed it in the tub, and sent a picture off to Maggie! (picture attached)

Well, this kicked off a whole new exciting game that I see no end to. See several pictures of "George" enjoying his Kimpton experience.

I went to wine hour and had my first stuffed date. It was divine! As I fired off an e-mail to Maggie proclaiming "I love Kimpton", I giggled as I realized that my BlackBerry spell-checks Kimpton as Compton! So folks as George and I sit her sipping our complimentary wine, watching tv, and talking to the fish, I say to you -- I LOVE COMPTON!

Las Vegas--An Oasis in the Desert

Although never discussed on this blog, my meeting planning resume has been light until this week. Lots of skills and experiences are necessary to be considered an experienced meeting planner--You have to have had a fight with an AV company, you have to have complained until amenities have shown up in your room, you have to have been upgraded to a suite at least once, you have to have barged your way into the back of the house to get what you need....and you have to have done a show in Vegas. Until yesterday, I was not complete; I had never been to Vegas (okay, yes, I should point out that my dear father, whose sense of wanderlust is as great if not greater than mine, did drive me through Vegas at the age of 12. But other than that, I'm a Vegas virgin).

Sure I've put together meetings that took place in Vegas, I've even planned on staffing a few of them. But something has always interfered. A conflicting meeting, a colleague who was just dying to go, and even the dreaded MRSA. But finally, the stars aligned, and here I am.

As a disclaimer I should mention that in general, I'm not attracted to the idea of Las Vegas. I'm not a gambler (I'm cursed with terrible luck), I don't particularly like buffets (who needs THAT much shrimp cocktail?), I'm afraid of old people (I always feel like they are little ticking time bombs -- ones that go off and leave you with a .... well, I'll leave that alone), and Cirque de Soliel scares the shit out of me (how do they contort themselves in that way?!?). Even the Cher, Bette Midler, Barry Manilow angle doesn't work for me, as even though I love them, I would not pay the amount of money they are asking to see "If I Could Turn Back Time" and "Mandy".

That being said, I promised myself that I would come to Vegas with an open heart and a positive outlook. And so, as I sat listening to my cab driver tell me that I should get the half price ticket to "Love" I pictured a different side of Vegas -- the twinkling lights, the mafia, the gleam of hope in some one's eye as they pictured themselves winning a fortune, the excessive drinking, the renting of prostitutes -- the American dream, right here in the desert, and it made me happy.

I checked into the Palazzo and found my room without incident (and only had to walk through one casino to get there.) My room is very nice -- all the rooms at the Palazzo are suites and I was impressed by the sunken living room and the sheer amount of televisions. I had some time before my pre-con and so I ventured out to see what the fuss was about Vegas hotels. An hour and a half later, I returned to my guest room, which it turns out is was my only refuge from the labyrinth that is the Palazzo/Venetian property. While roaming, I noted the following things:

1.) The place is massive. After walking for 15 minutes, I had to e-mail a friend at home and admit that I was lost (thank god for blackberries). She gave me over-the-phone bread crumbs to set me straight.

2.) There are a LOT of old people here. I noticed them all at the airport with their floral suitcases and fancy wheelchairs but seeing them wandering the hotel I noticed that the percentage of them is higher than in the general population. Maybe they like it because it's the only place where things are loud enough for them?

3.) No matter where you set out to go, you will end up in a casino. The design behind this is relatively obvious but I thought I could outsmart it. I couldn't.


5.) People in Vegas really like to get their pictures taken in front of stupid things. I'll try to get a collection of pics of people getting their pictures taken to prove my point.

After my adventure, and near Hansel and Gretel experience, I was excited to return to--hell, I was just excited to find--my room and was delighted by the thought of ordering room service, putting on pj's, watching a movie and drifting off to sleep with the twinkling lights silently shining down on me.

That's when things got awkward. My room service came and a man brought in a huge rolling cart. With much flourish, he spread a linen table cloth over my dining room table and began to set my place. One plate on the table, two plates, a basket of bread and with the final plate headed to the table, his body sprang forward as he tripped, mashed potatoes flying all ... over... everything. He was immediately flustered, intimidated, and embarrassed and began apologizing repeatedly in successively higher octaves. I assured him that it was fine and not to worry. This seemed to only worry him more, as though my attempts at comfort were a sign that I was secretly going to try to get him fired. He scooped everything up (including the plates of food that hadn't spilled, and promised a speedy return.
He came through on the promise, with new food, and an ice bucket of water which he placed on the floor, knelt beside, and began scrubbing my carpet. All the while with me standing aside watching. I kept blurting out "no, you don't have to...", "it's really ok....", "please.....it's not a big deal" in an attempt to just get him to leave and let me eat in peace. He finally excused him self after placing an apology present on the table -- an ice bucket full of bottled water. As he left and I was finally alone with my pajamas, movie, and dinner, I couldn't help thinking that having mashed potatoes tossed about your room should at least be worth a bottle of wine. Which brings me to my 6th observation--for all the glitz and glamor, and comped rooms, and casino drinks, nothing in Vegas is really free....

Taxicab situation

Update! The stickers in DC taxicabs have been fixed. I for one am glad the situation has been corrected and I thank Mayor Fenty for his attention to this matter. DC cabs are safe and informative to ride in once again!

A Plague Upon our House

Dear Mayor Fenty,

I'm writing to alert you to an alarming problem which I became aware of yesterday. I was traveling from National Airport to my home in upper Northwest in a lovely DC taxicab. As the sun was setting over the district, I glanced at the fees chart plastered to the window only to find a horrible misprint. Much to my shock and dismay, this document--which appeared to be produced by the DC government--calls the district "the District on Columbia." (picture attached.) How are we expected to ask the federal government, our citizens, and citizens of this fine nation to give our city the respect and power it deserves when we are unable to correctly identify ourselves in a document which will be displayed and consulted by hundreds, if not thousands of tourists.

I, for one, blame Leon J. Swain, Jr., chairperson of the DC taxicab commission, who lent his name to the document.

By way of this letter, I ask you to fix the problem immediately and have a talk with Mr. Swain re: his proofreading skills.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Molly Laurence, concerned citizen

Interesting Cab Rides, an Airline Cluster Fuck, Puppy Chow and a Shemullet

What, you ask, do all of these things have to do with one another? I'll tell you--they were all part of my day before noon.

Per my usual travel habits, I hopped in a cab at 5:30 am headed for National airport. My cab driver immediately launched into a full blown diatribe on the socio-, economic, and political implications of the upcoming election. Never one to back away from republican-bashing, I jumped right in. But I had nothing on this guy. He was more knowledgeable (and outspoken) than most top political analysts. It was like watching the News Hour with Jim Lehrer, only in a car and in the early morning. Looking back, I should have requested his name for future trips so that I can monitor his feelings on the election. Overall--enjoyable for 5:30 am.

I got to the airport, checked in, made it through security, drank a cup of coffee, and boarded the plane without incident. (Shocking, right?) I sat down in my seat and immediately passed out. I awoke to the wheels touched down in Chicago. People were bustling around me, fighting for their belongings and bumping into each other. For a second the crowd parted, and that's when I saw it. Through my bleary eyes it shown like a magnificent grey waterfall. Feathered on top, at least a foot long, and silky smooth--the most fantastic mullet I've ever seen. Just then, it's cultivator turned around and to my shocked delight, it was a woman. Making it a SHEMULLET. I scrambled for my cell phone hoping that I could take a picture without being noticed, but just like that, the shemullet drifted off, hair flowing in the pumped-in-oxygen breeze. Gone from my life as quickly as it entered. Choosing not to dwell on the negative, I thanked my god that I had been lucky enough to see it and slunk off to my connecting gate.

At this point I witnessed one of the largest cluster fucks I have ever seen in an airport. The plane originally intended to carry me to Denver had a "belly ache" (united airlines personnel described it this way) and was not able to leave its hanger. We were shuffled to another gate where there was no plane waiting. Then, United personnel began calling people to the desk one at a time and giving them different boarding passes with different seat assignments. They would get about 5 people deep and then call all of the same people again, and then laugh and say "oh, we already took care of you." This went on for about 30 minutes. They explained that this was necessary because the plane was smaller and about 50 people wouldn't be given seats. About half way through the alphabet, a plane showed up and they began boarding us, completely abandoning the reassignment of seats. (Which, by the way, seemed to have no rhyme or reason and basically consisted of people being asked if they wanted more leg room). I got in line to board, hoping I was not one of the 50 unlucky passengers and was allowed on. As was everyone else it seemed. I'm sure somewhere there are 50 really pissed off people but it seemed like a first come first served situation. Very confusing.

Got to Denver only 40 minutes late and headed to the cab line. As my cab rolled toward me I jumped backward and let out a gasp. My cab was being driven by the crypt keeper. I considered running but she (yes, she) got out and was so sweet. I got in the cab and immediately noticed that she had a small village of plastic frogs, turtles, and alligators living on her dashboard. Some with bobble heads. This image warrants this blogs very first photo. So here it is for your viewing pleasure. You can't see it that well but it's the best I could do with a cell phone.

On our drive into Denver we passed the Purina puppy chow factory. The car immediately filled with the smell of puppy chow and I choked back vomit.

It's sunny and warm here and I'm actually happy to be in Denver. Weird.

Charlotte--wrap-up

When we left off, I had just arrived in Charlotte and already it had been an interesting trip. Now, days later at home, I'm not able to remember all of the ridiculous things that happened so I'll just name a few.

Focus group members are normally paid $60 for 4.5 hours. One focus group member in Charlotte got paid $60 for about 20 minutes. That's right, I paid him to leave. Why? drunk and disorderly. Moral of the story--go to work drunk, they'll pay you AND let you go home.

A participant came up to me on Saturday and said "I'd like to file a complaint". Being used to this I said "sure, what's wrong?" and he explained that he felt that it was wrong that we are serving Evian water at the program. I looked at him, puzzled, and asked him to elaborate. He explained that we are the AMERICAN Association for Justice and that serving french water is unpatriotic. My mouth dropped open as I tried to come up with an answer, ANY answer, other than, "are you fucking serious?" I regained my composure and explained that when we order soft drinks and water we do not get a choice re: brand. He felt that wasn't good enough and that I should negotiate American water into our contract. I wanted to ask him if he would be happier if we provided Dasani water, fueling money straight into the pockets of the Coke Co. big wigs but I decided to leave it alone and promised to mention that contract clause to our meetings manager.

The faculty, directed to buy me lunch on Saturday, brought me back an enormous turkey leg. I wouldn't know where to find a turkey leg if my life depended on it (outside of the Renaissance festival) but they are apparently quite common in Charlotte. You'd think the town would smell more like turkey and less like pancakes.

Side note: In addition to the program I staffed in Charlotte, we had two other programs running this weekend in Las Vegas. Upon returning to the office I'm told that a faculty member for one of those programs showed up 30 minutes late and drunk. Apparently, focus group members and lawyers have something in common.

Next Trip: Denver, September 24-28. More then.

Charlotte--Blog 1

My 0809 travel season has begun! That means that the blogs will be back in semi-full force (read: when I'm bored or have something ridiculous to report). Today qualifies on both fronts.

The program started off with me realizing I have forgotten the lesson that I thought I learned last year. I booked a flight leaving National at 7:15 am--getting me to Charlotte a whole 7 hours before I needed to be here. Last year I vowed not to book flights so early as it forces me to drag myself out of bed before the hour of 5 am (unholy). But what can you do, sometimes people in early flight recovery have slips. This was mine.

I got in my cab at 6 am and started down Connecticut Ave without incident. Even before hitting Woodley Park the cab had to pull over to re-shut the trunk which had popped open and was bouncing wildly in the wind. The cab driver closed the trunk and we proceeded. I sat in the cab, answering e-mails and making a mental to-do list until I heard the most outrageous racket coming from the car. And then what smelled like burning rubber. I looked up to find that we were on the GW parkway, doing about 45 MPH and the driver said "hmm, I've got a flat tire. Don't worry, we'll make it there." This sounded suspect to me but you should never question a professional, so I went back to my e-mails and tried to ignore the smell/sound. We went for maybe a mile and then the ride began to resemble what I can only imagine a wagon ride felt like on the Oregon Trail....except with more burning rubber smell and lite '80s classics sound. The cab driver pulled over and told me "don't worry, I'm really good at changing tires, this should only take a second." He gets out of the car, opens the trunk and begins jacking up the car. All the while, cars are whizzing by, honking their horns and I am alternately worrying that a.) he'll be hit by one of these speed racers, and b.) I might miss my flight. Luckily, less than 10 minutes later, he is back in the car and we are on our way. I tipped him well -- after all, he could have died changing that tire.

Other notes (not as interesting):

1.) When I got to the airport and went to check in they told me that USAir now charges $17 dollars per checked bag. What the shit is that? I'm pretty sure ticket prices are high enough to cover the cost of putting my tiny bag in the large open space in the bowels of the plane. I can understand charging a fee if it was unusual to travel with luggage, but I'm pretty sure it's not. If I wanted to travel with a dog, or a snowboard, or even a small bird (yeah right! a.) that would never happen, and b.) it should fly there on it's own if it wants to go) then I could see a fee. But just my regular bag? It's total crap.

2.) Charlotte smells like pancakes. The whole town.

3.) My cab driver in Charlotte was driving 52 miles a hour in downtown traffic. I know they like NASCAR down here but seriously?!?