Tom was exhausted. A thunderstorm in Chicago had delayed his connecting flight into Atlanta and turned what was supposed to be an afternoon arrival at the hotel with plenty of time to relax before the start of tomorrow's conference was quickly unraveling into a mess.
The line at the front desk of the hotel was moving at a snail's pace. Tom's feet ached. Before leaving this morning, his wife told him to wear more casual clothes to travel in, but Tom had opted instead for a business casual look, something he was regretting now more than ever.
When he finally reached the desk, he gave the clerk his name. There was a pause and then a look of confusion on the young woman's face.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, I don't seem to have a reservation for you."
"Could you please check again," Tom said, his face getting red with anger. After a day of terrible travel, the last thing he needed was a messy check-in.
The clerk once again input his information but came back with the same response.
"There must be some sort of mix-up," Tom said. "I made these reservations months ago. I have a suite reserved for the Public Policy Conference that begins tomorrow. I made these reservations months ago. I'm one of the presenters for God's sake!"
Tom could feel a cold sweat building along the color of his polo shirt. His face was beet red. As a 35-year-old, PR executive this conference was going to be his big coming out party and now the whole dame thing was going to fall apart before it could even get started.
"Are there other rooms available?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," the clerk said. "We are totally booked."
"A broom closet? Cot in the hallway, anything? Please, I'm desperate," Tom said, feeling his professional life falling apart.
"I'm sorry, sir. There are several other hotels in the area, I can give you contact information for those and provide a shuttle, if they have rooms available, but I have to warn you, there are many other conference in town this week."
Tom tuned the desk clerk out, not listening to what he had to say. He walked away from the desk into the bustling lobby. He pulled his suitcase behind him, a saddle bag flung over a broad shoulder and his smart phone in his hand scrolling for what he hoped was a solution to his boarding problem.
The line at the front desk of the hotel was moving at a snail's pace. Tom's feet ached. Before leaving this morning, his wife told him to wear more casual clothes to travel in, but Tom had opted instead for a business casual look, something he was regretting now more than ever.
When he finally reached the desk, he gave the clerk his name. There was a pause and then a look of confusion on the young woman's face.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, I don't seem to have a reservation for you."
"Could you please check again," Tom said, his face getting red with anger. After a day of terrible travel, the last thing he needed was a messy check-in.
The clerk once again input his information but came back with the same response.
"There must be some sort of mix-up," Tom said. "I made these reservations months ago. I have a suite reserved for the Public Policy Conference that begins tomorrow. I made these reservations months ago. I'm one of the presenters for God's sake!"
Tom could feel a cold sweat building along the color of his polo shirt. His face was beet red. As a 35-year-old, PR executive this conference was going to be his big coming out party and now the whole dame thing was going to fall apart before it could even get started.
"Are there other rooms available?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," the clerk said. "We are totally booked."
"A broom closet? Cot in the hallway, anything? Please, I'm desperate," Tom said, feeling his professional life falling apart.
"I'm sorry, sir. There are several other hotels in the area, I can give you contact information for those and provide a shuttle, if they have rooms available, but I have to warn you, there are many other conference in town this week."
Tom tuned the desk clerk out, not listening to what he had to say. He walked away from the desk into the bustling lobby. He pulled his suitcase behind him, a saddle bag flung over a broad shoulder and his smart phone in his hand scrolling for what he hoped was a solution to his boarding problem.
