PPB November 2019

than to ask too many questions. (Did I mention they were all men?) They informed me that I had missed an unbelievable dinner the night before and that lunch was spectacular, too. Thankfully, it was time to go to the airport to catch our flights home. They waited patiently for me as I visited the ladies’ room to see what damage I could rectify with the little black comb, and then they facetiously asked if they could help with my luggage. Since the last time I had seen my luggage was in Toronto, I chuckled that it had decided to go on vacation without me. Finally, I made it back to Houston. My husband was waiting for me at the passenger pick-up and he commented on how quickly I had made it through the airport. I reminded him that traveling with luggage is overrated and all a girl needs are a plastic comb, eye mask and her favorite shoes. The first thing that came off when we arrived back home were those cruel shoes. My feet are still killing me. Not Your Grandfather’s Lodging Mike McMillan Vice President of Sales RiteLine, LLC Dallas, Texas I had never been to Houston before, even though I was raised in Dallas, but years ago, when I was a young supplier rep, I made several appointments in America’s fourth largest city. In those days, our company required us to book our travel through a corporate travel agent. I told her to book me at a hotel brand my grandfather had relied on called Howard Johnson. Back in the 1960s, he thought that chain was the cat’s meow. On Sunday evening, arriving as late as possible to make the most of my weekend, I landed in Houston and picked up my rental car. Since this was 1989, GPS technology was not available to this eager young rep looking for his hotel in a large city. I asked the rental car agent how to find the ‘HoJo’ and pulling out a map, he began drawing all over it like it was an Etch-a-Sketch. Confused as ever, I drove onto Loop 610, which circles the city. I drove and drove and finally, around midnight, pulled into a convenience store parking lot to use the payphone. I called the hotel for directions. As I hung up, a young man around 17 years old asked if he could borrow 50 cents. Twenty feet behind him was another group of young men dutifully watching their comrade ask me for financial aid. After hearing that I did not have any change, they quickly deduced I must have some because I had just dropped a quarter into the payphone. “Then, how about paper money?” the young man asked as his buddies crept closer to me. I decided my best option was to quickly jump back into the car and speed away. I finally found the HoJo and was a bit unsettled by the plywood nailed over the windows. It didn’t seem to convey the usual sentiment: “Pardon our dust while we improve for your comfort.” As I walked into the hotel lobby, the intoxicating aroma of incense filled the air. It smelled like a cross between milk weed and fresh cut grass. I was not a fan, but I accepted their attempt at creating a comfortable environment during this renovation process. The desk clerk was an interesting sort. I concluded he must be a member of some local community group like Kiwanis or Toastmasters because he had on a black leather vest with a skeleton riding a motorcycle on the back. I checked into my room, feeling fiscally responsible for booking a $35 per night hotel. Luckily, I found a pizza place that would deliver and proceeded to call in my order. The room phone earpiece had a strangely comfortable feel to it, so I pulled it away frommy ear and noticed what appeared to be a gel of some sort. At that moment, I believe I vomited a little in my mouth. I ordered my pizza, took a shower and waited hungrily for the delivery. After gorging myself on my late dinner, I made sure my door was locked and bolted. I laid down and tried to drift off to sleep but I kept hearing a woman who seemed to be in some distress in the next room. After about 20 minutes, the noises ceased, and I heard someone leave. Soon, someone else arrived and more of the same sounds ensued. It was then I thought it would be wise to wedge a chair under my doorknob. The next morning, I awoke to the realization this was not part of the hotel chain my grandfather loved. And this area of Houston was not one I would be returning to. A Lot To ‘Wine’ About Charity Gibson National Account Coordinator Peerless Umbrella Tucson, Arizona I was new to the supplier side of the industry and had been trying to secure an appointment with a local distributor for months. When they finally gave me the opportunity, I knew it was my time to shine. Confident as ever, I rolled my giant Tales From The Road | FEATURE | NOVEMBER 2019 | 23