During my hotel career, my numerous “sales trips” to the Middle East often led to unexpected adventure.  And thus there I was, in March 2007, in the back of a Toyota Land Cruiser hurtling through the black of night on an un-lit 2 lane road that cut through the desert north of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.  My host, and frequent guest of my hotel in Malaysia, Mansour, had decided that an authentic Arabic evening at his desert campsite would be the ideal way to welcome me to his country.  All I really wanted to do was get some rest and be ready for the day of sales calls and business appointments that awaited me the following morning. 

Suddenly, and without warning, our vehicle veered off the paved road, and onto the un-lit sandy Arabian dunes.  After 5 minutes of up and down in the pitch dark, my host rolled down his window and began shouting in Arabic into the night…the result of which was a motorized hum followed by a flood of lights that revealed an oasis of 3 giant tents in the middle of nowhere.   Confused, I looked more closely and noticed 2 men scurrying to light camp fires, and set the evening for our arrival.  “Who are those guys?” I asked, “and how did they get OUT here?”

“Oh…they live here”, came the calm reply.  Mansour had apparently hired 2 gentlemen to live in the middle of the desert, at his campsite, to turn on the lights whenever he visited (which was about twice per month).  Things got more interesting about an hour later when we were joined by a 3rd gentleman, whose car magically found our remote location; he emerged from the desert night carrying a large plastic mineral water bottle.  But this was no ordinary water….it was a homemade speciality.  ”One Sip” he warned me with a waving finger “and you will feel no pain. Two sips you may forget this evening.  And three sips…you will be blind for 2 days”.  I politely opted for zero sips.

After hours of stargazing around a giant firepit, Mansour received a call that a sandstorm was on its way.  Wonderful.  But preparations had been made, so we retired into one of the giant tents, which was mercifully (and amazingly) equipped with zipper doors, carpets, and indoor plumbing.  As the sandstorm rolled in about an hour later, we heard another vehicle approaching.  Apparently this was “room service”, delivering to our remote oasis the banquet for the evening, which they promptly began to set up in the tent next door.  When Mansour received word that the food was ready, we wrapped our faces with scarves and dashed through the howling sandstorm across to the 2^nd tent.  By then, it was 2am, and I was famished.

Upon entering the tent, I was presented with quite an amazing sight: an authentic Arabian feast, the centerpiece of which was a full lamb, literally in-tact, skinned and cooked, and laid atop an even bigger bed of fragrant biryani rice.  The gentleman next to me, who I had never seen until that moment, reached over to the blackened lamb, tore off the entire head, stuck his fingers through the top of the skull with a loud “crunch”, scooped out about half of the lamb’s brain and stuffed it hungrily in his mouth.  He licked his juicy fingers as I watched in amazement and fear.  Then the tent grew silent as he dug in for more, and, holding another morsel of lamb’s brains with his bare hand, the unthinkable occurred: he offered it to me.

This was the moment of truth, all eyes were on me, and I knew that my reputation was on the line.  There was no escape, so I went for it, leaning in and opening wide, he shoved the lamb’s brains right into my mouth with his fingers.   The tent went crazy with cheers and dancing while the wind and sand howled outside, and I knew at that very moment: I was accepted; I was one of them.  The cultural divide had officially been bridged.  It was 4 a.m. before I was mercifully returned to my hotel, dusty and exhausted.  It was a night I will never forget.  So, what’s the strangest thing that YOU have ever eaten with traveling abroad?

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post Brainless in the Desert appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

by Steve Cokkinias

It was May 2003, and SouthEast Asia was right in the middle of SARS. To help the hotel’s financial situation, I decided to head off from Kuala Lumpur to visit Bali for a week of unpaid leave.  I called my Balinese friend Hery, who arranged 2 Harley-Davidson motorcycles for us to rent.  He promised to give me a guided tour of the “Island of the Gods”.  And what an adventure we had, all in the span of a single day.

Things started off smoothly, as we headed out on a winding road along the south of the island, from Jimbaran towards Uluwatu.  And that’s when it happened.  Hery was riding ahead of me, and I could see a large 2-ton truck approaching us from the opposite direction on the 2-lane road.  Suddenly and without warning, a giant wild turkey sprinted across the road, just in front of Hery’s Harley, as the truck was passing him in the opposite direction.  The front grill of the truck smashed the giant bird with a loud “ffuump” and the turkey burst into an explosion of feathers and guts, which sprayed all over Hery as he rode past on his motorcycle.  I thought it was hilarious.  But that was just the start.On our way back into town, we stopped at a red light on a 4 lane road, with another large truck right next to us.  And Hery could not see the old lady crossing the street, as his view was blocked by the truck.  As our luck would have it, the light turned green just as the lady emerged into view half way across the street.  Hery was looking up, saw the green light, hit the throttle on his Harley, and ran right into her.  But the old lady was nimble: she jumped into the air, spun 90 degrees towards the headlight, grabbed his handlebars with both hands, and landed face to face with Hery, straddling the front tire between her legs.  It was an amazing feat of agility, and I got the feeling that she had done it before.

Then, as fate would have it, it was my turn.  As we rode down a busy Balinese main road on our 2 thundering Harleys, a young man on a small scooter came flying out from a side road, tried to merge with the moving traffic, and smashed right into the side of me and my massive Heritage Softail as he took the corner too wide.  My bike wobbled a bit, but I maintained control and didn’t fall.  What I saw when I looked in my rear view mirror, however, concerned me greatly.

Looking back, I was shocked to see the small scooter flipping end over end, and disintegrating behind me, sending rider tumbling head over heels amongst the debris of dust, metal and rubber that was once his motorbike.  Hery and I pulled over, and watched as the rider slowly got up, clothes torn, covered in blood and dirt.  He picked up a detached side mirror with one hand, part of a wheel with the other hand, and staggered over to talk to us.  I think he had lost a few teeth in the accident.  And naturally, that’s exactly when the Balinese police arrived on the scene.

An argument ensued between Hery, my “victim”, and the police in their native language, Bahasa Indonesia.  I had no idea what was happening or what they were talking about.  Finally, the cop turned to me and said in broken English, “He’s asking for 50,000 and he won’t press any charges.”

“WHAT?” I exclaimed.  “This wasn’t my fault! He ran into ME!  I’m not paying him anything!  And 50,000? You must be crazy!”  Hery then pulled me aside and whispered in my ear.

“Bro, that guy is in really bad shape…and his bike is destroyed.  And 50,000 Indonesian Rupiah is only five U.S. dollars.”  Ohhh, I see.  Five dollars.  Here you go.  Bye.  And we rode off.  Lesson learned: in a foreign land, although it is always your fault, don’t jump to conclusions; it may not be as bad as you think.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post Balinese Bikers! appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

Successful Hoteliers, especially General Managers and Sales Managers, do a lot of traveling.  Nothing beats a face-to-face meeting with a potential customer or decision maker.  And although most of my business trips as a G.M. were both successful and uneventful, one particular travel experience was very memorable….for all the wrong reasons.

It was March 2008, and I had just finished a 3-week sales trip to several countries across the Middle East, a key market for my hotel at the time in Malaysia.  My next mission: to fly from Damascus, Syria, to Florida, USA, for a 2 day stop-over with family, en-route to the 2008 Ritz-Carlton General Manager’s conference in New Orleans.

Our sales trip culminated with a 3-day visit to Syria, and happened to coincide with the 2008 “Arab League Summit”.  Security around the capital city was extremely tight, and departure out of the Damascus airport was nothing short of wild.  A long line of at least 150 people stretched out the doors of the airport and out onto the street.  To ensure my safety and expedite my departure, I was sent to the airport with an “assistant”, a tiny Syrian man who grabbed my huge suitcase, raised it over his head, and dove into the crowd, shoving his way to the front with me following behind in his wake.  We fought our way through the airport scanners and he got me to my gate with a nod, and a silent handshake.  And then he was gone.  It was a 3 hour flight east, back to Dubai, so that I could catch my connection west, a 13 hour flight to New York.  Total travel time including layovers, from Syria to Dubai to New York: 21 hours.

I was relieved to be back home in the U.S.A.… until I realized that I was not going to be allowed into the country.  At the immigration counter, the officer took my (USA) passport, placed it in a green folder, and told me to go to the end of a hallway ,informing me that I had been flagged for “irregular travel patterns”.  Apparently, it was uncommon for a U.S. citizen to travel to Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Qatar, Oman, Kuwait, Syria, and the UAE all in the span of 3 weeks.  Hoteliers do it all the time.

When I reached the immigration ‘holding area’, I politely asked the officer at the counter if he knew how long this would take, as I had to catch a connecting flight.  He warmly replied “Have a seat, SIR.”  So I waited for one and a half hours for my turn, which caused me to miss my connecting flights onward to Florida.  As time ticked by, I began to eagerly anticipate my pending interrogation.  Would there be a separate, darkened room, with a single light hanging from the ceiling?  Would I get to experience a ‘cavity search’?  My imagination ran wild.   Once it was finally my turn, however, the interview with the officer was hugely disappointing, and went exactly like this: “What were you doing in the Middle East?” he asked. My reply:

“I was on a sales trip visiting customers; I work at a hotel in Kuala Lumpur.” The reply:

“OK”.

Ok? That’s it? Apparently it was, and I was permitted to enter my home country.  What a waste of time!

After locating my luggage and fighting another group of hundreds in line for outbound flights, I managed to book myself onto the next available option from New York to Florida, which connected through North Carolina.  The flight from New York to North Carolina was hit twice by lightening in a huge thunderstorm, and was about as turbulent as you could imagine, with passengers and overhead luggage bouncing around in unison.  Needless to say, I was glad to be in North Carolina after a 1.5 hour flight, because this meant there was only ONE MORE HOUR to go: the final short hop onwards to Jacksonville, Florida.  Almost there!  Total travel time thus far: 27.5 hours.   What else could possibly go wrong?

And naturally, something else went wrong.  Something un-imaginable.  We were seated on the tiny plane.  We were ready for takeoff.  Our seatbelts were on, our tray tables were up.  All electronic devices had been switched off, and our seats were in their fully upright positions.

And then with an ominous chirp of white noise, the pilot came on the intercom: “Uhhh…good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, it appears we have a bit of a problem…”  And he went on to explain, as I listened in disbelief, that the aircraft lavatory door lock was somehow broken.  Yes, the door to the toilet could not be locked.  It could be closed…..but not locked.  And apparently U.S. Federal Aviation Agency (FAA) regulations stated that an aircraft whose lavatory door could not be locked was considered “out of service”, and un-fly-able.  Thus, we had to de-plane, and wait to board a 2nd aircraft to Florida, as the raging East Coast thunderstorms that day continued.  I finally arrived in Florida, exhausted and battered, after 4 connections through 3 countries and 1 missed flight.  Total travel time: 31 hours.  And naturally, as you might imagine, due to the change of airplanes in North Carolina, the airline lost my luggage, which was only delivered to me the following night.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post A Day and Night of Awful Flight! appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

A chilly February 1999, and I was the Front Desk Manager at my 729-room hotel in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.  It was the time of year for College Basketball’s Regional Conference Championship Tournaments, and we were the host city for the “Big 12 Conference”.  And as such, we were one of the “host hotels” where a few of the teams and their supporters would stay.  The tournament ran Thursday through Sunday, with the finals on Sunday afternoon, so each team made reservations for the whole weekend, just in case they won the entire tournament.

Similarly, I was told by the more experienced managers in the hotel, as soon as a team lost, they would check out and go home, rather than staying and paying for all 3 nights.  And on Saturday afternoon, two of the teams that were staying with us were playing against one another.  The loser, I was told by our confident Sales team, would check out late Saturday afternoon and go home, along with most of their fans.  Apparently, it happened every year…

Now one thing about hotels is this: in order to “sell out” on any night, and actually fill all of your available rooms, you usually have to over-book the hotel a bit.  So if you have 729 rooms, you probably need to sell 740 reservations for that night to actually fill all 729.  Why?  Some guests don’t show up, some guests call and cancel the same day, and some guests check out early.  Airlines frequently do the same thing, and are occasionally forced to “bump” passengers off of an overbooked flight.  And what happens IF all the hotel guests with reservations DO show up, and there are not enough rooms?  In the hotel business, we call this a “walk situation.”

“Walking” a guest is what happens when a guest arrives to a hotel in the evening with a confirmed booking, and the hotel has no more rooms, because they took a chance, over-booked, and then not enough guests cancelled or checked-out early.  So despite the confirmed reservation, there are just no rooms available.  As compensation for this lost gamble, the hotel then reserves the guest a room at another similar, close-by hotel, pays for all charges for the night, including transportation to the other hotel and breakfast the next morning, and if the guest was booked for more than 1 night, arranges a return pickup and brings the guest back the following day.  In some hotels in busy cities like New York or Chicago, it is fairly common to “walk” a few guests per night, while always striving for the “perfect fill” of 100% occupancy.

And on this fateful Saturday afternoon, our hotel Sales Team, knowing that one of the teams would be checking out after losing, even though their reservations were until Sunday, continued to accept bookings according to the annual tradition.  And as it was my first year at the hotel, I was getting extremely nervous.  By 1pm that day, we were over-booked by 110 rooms.  Or as we would say in the hotel biz, we were “negative 110”.  That has to be some kind of record.  “Don’t worry Steve” the Director of Sales kept telling me.  “Whichever team loses this afternoon will come back to the hotel and check-out, along with all of their fans.  100 Rooms will check-out early, and you will be FINE.”

And that’s when it started to snow.

We all watched the game on a small TV in my office, and Oklahoma lost.  It would be a few hours drive for the team and their fans to get home from Kansas City, so we started planning for their departure and hoped the snow would stop.  But it didn’t.  And when the Oklahoma team busses reached the hotel, I was standing at the front entrance to meet them and confirm with the coach that they were indeed leaving.  And I was standing in a blizzard.  The first bus stopped, the coach got out, shook my hand, looked up at the dark gray wintery skies, and said to me “The weather looks a bit too dangerous to drive.  We are going to stay overnight, and check out tomorrow on Sunday as originally planned.”  I stood staring at him frozen and shocked, with my mouth hanging open collecting snowflakes, as the realization that we were over-booked by 110 rooms and nobody was going to cancel, began to wash over me in cold waves of horror.

“Ok” was all I could muster, and I ran inside in “panic mode”, gathered my team, and began calling around to other nearby 5-star hotels to secure additional rooms.  We were going to have to “walk” at least 100 people in the next few hours.  And it wasn’t going to be pretty.  I was going to kill that Director of Sales, who was safely at home with his family.

Many of the arriving guests that we would have to move to other hotels (against their will) were also at the game that afternoon, and had been drinking and cheering.  They probably planned on checking-in after the game, resting, and then heading out for dinner.  And when they were told the bad news at the Front Desk, they were NOT happy.  And the worst part was, most of the “good” hotels in town were also sold-out because of the big basketball tournament.  We only managed to secure a few rooms at each of the other 5-star hotels in town, which went to the first 20 or so lucky guests that arrived.  And then we started calling the 4-star hotels.  And took all of their rooms.  And then the 3-star hotels.  Until there were no more rooms left.  And then we started calling the 2-star hotels.  We had no choice.

We set up a separate table off to the side of the lobby with a telephone and a stack of taxi vouchers, and started sending guests over to this desk, where they would be administered with an apology, an explanation, a transportation voucher, and the name of the hotel they were going to.  It was quite a production line.  After “walking” the first 60 or so guests to other hotels, the crowd waiting in line began to get loud and unruly, as the word started to spread that the hotel had no more rooms.  The drunk, impatient, angry guests began shouting and throwing things.  We actually needed to call the police to assist us with “crowd control” as the lobby was turning into a riot scene.  Four guests were arrested for “drunk and disorderly behaviour”.   Women and children cried in the corners.  At one point a fight broke out between two guests who were tired of waiting in line and couldn’t decide who arrived first.

By the time we reached the 80^th guest to “walk”, we were sending them to hotels I had never even heard of.  But if they had a room available, we booked it.  When we reached the 90^th guest, after about four hours of this process, we were sending guests to hotels in neighborhoods that I would not even drive through in my car with the doors locked and the windows rolled up.  It got SO bad that we actually “walked” the SAME guest TWICE that same evening, something I don’t think many hoteliers can say that they have ever done.  What happened?  We sent a guest to a 2-star mystery hotel, and 30 minutes later he was back in my lobby.  “What happened, why are you back here?” I asked. “I thought I was clear that we unfortunately don’t have any rooms available tonight.”  His reply was memorable:

“I refuse to stay at the hotel you sent me to.  The front doors had bars on them, and when I got into the lobby the lady at the front desk was behind a glass wall and was talking to me through a small round speaker, like at a movie theater…or a prison.  She asked me to ‘slide my I.D. under the glass’.  I said ‘no way’ and came back here.  So you need to please send me somewhere else.”

The final body-count that day was ninety-six.  96 Guests relocated from my hotel to at least 15 other hotels in town in an awful five-hour stretch of madness.  It was easily one of the most memorable and stressful nights of my hospitality career.  And that Sales Manager?  Lucky for him, he was really good at begging for forgiveness.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post No ‘Walk in the Park’! appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

It was April 1997 and I was doing one of my favorite hotel jobs of all time – “Front Drive Supervisor” at a massive 1500-room hotel at Walt Disney World, in Orlando, Florida.  It was a job I really enjoyed; I wore shorts to work, had a radio and a headset, directed traffic and got to drive some fantastic cars.  But most importantly, my job was to just keep the traffic moving.

The front entrance of the hotel was seven full car lanes wide, and at the time (and perhaps still) was the largest covered hotel driveway in the South-Eastern United States of America.  The first 3 lanes, closest to the front of the hotel, were for cars only, and were separated from the other 4 lanes by a sidewalk that ran parallel to the front of the building.  And one critical function of mine was to keep that 3^rd lane clear at all times, for car traffic that was passing through.  In fact, my manager at the time, Johann, made it perfectly clear to me on my first day on the job: “Keep the 3^rd lane clear, and don’t let ANYBODY stop or park their car in that lane, EVER.”  Got it.

But on that particular peaceful night, the unthinkable happened…my relaxation was ruined by the red and white flashing lights and sirens of an ambulance, screeching around the corner on what was apparently an emergency call to the hotel.  And despite my best efforts, despite my waving arms and the squeal of my referee whistle (and for those who know me, I am hard to miss), the ambulance driver ignored me, pulled into MY sacred 3^rd lane, and parked.  And before I could say “move it along”, the driver and the two paramedics all jumped out of the ambulance, and ran inside.  The ambulance sat in MY precious 3^rd lane, flashing lights and engine on, just staring at me.  Mocking me.  Time stood still.

It was driving me nuts.  The vehicular monstrosity was blocking the pass-through lane…the lane I had sworn to protect with my life.  And engine on, lights flashing?  It was just too much to bear.  So I slowly and carefully looked left and right, and, convinced that I was the highest-ranking employee in sight, made another one of my many bad on-the-job decisions: I was going to move the ambulance myself.

The driver’s door was un-locked, and the ambulance was on, idling in “park”.  So I pulled myself up into the driver’s seat, put the ambulance into “drive”, and took it around the side of the hotel, lights still flashing.  I looped around the building, pulled the ambulance back onto the front drive area, but into the FOURTH lane, on the other side of the dividing sidewalk.  I parked it right in the center, lined up with the front entrance doors of the hotel.  The paramedics and driver could not possibly miss it when they came out.  I ensured the ambulance was in park, turned the vehicle off, and left the keys in the ignition.

And about 10 minutes later, out they came.  They had, I later learned, treated a guest who was having an allergic reaction to something, and as they did not need to bring the guest to the hospital, the three came out alone, just as they had gone in, with their bags and medical kits in hand.  Little did I know, a new emergency was just about to unfold.

“WHO MOVED MY AMBULANCE ??” came the bellowing shout from the red-faced driver, as he ran towards the vehicle in a heated rage.  “WHO TOUCHED IT??”

“Um, I did” I replied, one hand raised like a school-boy.  “I was signalling when you pulled up….you can’t park in the 3^rd lane, so I just moved it over to the 4^th lane for you. You’re welcome.”

“WE CAN PARK WHEREVER WE WANT!!!” echoed the reply.  “AND YOU TURNED IT OFF? ARE YOU CRAZY? DO YOU HAVE A LICENSE AND CERTIFICATION TO DRIVE AN AMBULANCE??”  I was suddenly learning a lot, in a very short period of time.  And what I learned was this: not only are you required to have a special operator’s license to drive an ambulance (who knew?) but you can NEVER just turn an ambulance OFF.  Apparently an ambulance has all sorts of life-saving equipment and technology and coolers and computers that need to be properly powered-down before turning off the vehicle ignition (again, who knew?). If someone DID simply turn off the ignition, it’s like shutting off your desk-top computer by yanking the power plug out of the wall.  Except… ten times worse.

They took down my name and the next day wrote a 2-page formal complaint letter to the General Manager of the hotel, but I was 1-step ahead of them, as before leaving that very night, I had slipped an “explanation letter” under the General Manager’s door, pre-empting him about what had happened.  You see, I was “just doing my job as instructed.”  And my G.M. saved both me and the situation, smoothed things over with the hospital and ambulance team, and taught me a valuable lesson: sometimes just “doing your job as instructed” gets in the way of “doing the right thing”.  And I haven’t made that mistake again since.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post Just Doing My Job! appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

As a new hotel General Manager, or as a new leader in any industry, it is always important to take the time to develop relationships with the existing team.  In the hotel business, unless the property is newly opened, the incoming G.M. always inherits an existing group leaders and a senior executives who will determine his/her success or failure.  So when I took over as General Manager in Kuala Lumpur in August 2003, I tried to take the time to get to know each and every member of my team, and ensure that we were aligned in the changing goals that I was setting for the property.  However this process was not nearly as easy as I thought, and a big reason for the troubles I encountered was communication.

Malaysia is a country with a unique communication culture, and it is very different than in the USA where I am from.  In the USA, most people speak directly, clearly, and say precisely what they mean.  In Malaysia, the communication traditions are quite different.  Words are spoken more softly, gestures and intonation adds complexity, and often the intricacies take time to fully digest and understand.

Adding complexity are the abbreviations, and other elements.  For example, Malaysians often take English words and shorten them without good reason.  “Sabo” I learned means “sabotage” and means back-stabbing.  “Ori” means “original”, and is typically used to describe handbags and mobile phones.  Additionally, foreigners must learn that certain phrases, when used in Malaysia, have different meanings than in other parts of the world.  For example, when someone says “On the way” in Malaysia, it actually means “Not yet on the way.”  It can also mean “I just got out of the shower.” Additionally complex is the concept of time in Malaysia.  I eventually learned that “tomorrow” actually means “next week”, “next week” means “next month”, “next month” means “next year”, and “next year” usually means “never”.

One particular interaction with my Director of Engineering (Maintenance) at the time, Kumar, still stands out in my mind to this day.  We were in the midst of our morning meeting at 9am, and the discussion turned to an on-going project to replace the old filament-style light bulbs in all of the 250 hotel guestrooms with new long-life, energy-saving bulbs which were made exclusively (at the time) by a company called Osram.

The conversation went (almost exactly) like this:

Me: “How many rooms have we completed installing the long-life Osram bulbs?”

Kumar: “About 150.”

Me: “So we have to finish installing Osram bulbs in 100 rooms still?”

Kumar: “No.”

Me: “Well, if we have 250 rooms, and 150 have the long-life Osram bulbs already installed, that leaves 100 rooms still to go, for the long-life bulbs, right?”

Kumar: “Yes, exactly.”

Me: “So don’t we have 100 rooms remaining to replace with the Osram bulbs?”

Kumar: “No.  The whole hotel already has them.”

At this point, I was getting a bit frustrated and a bit confused, but I didn’t want to lose my cool.  Obviously there was something I was not understanding, and I was determined to figure out what it was. “Kumar”, I said calmly, “if you have completed installing the Osram long-life bulbs in 150 rooms, then we have 100 rooms remaining to still complete.  Is that right?”

“Yes boss.” Came Kumar’s reply.

“So, out of 250 total rooms, we have 100 rooms that still do not have the Osram bulbs, and 150 rooms that have the Osram bulbs already installed.  Is…that…correct?” I asked slowly.

“No boss”, replied Kumar calmly.  “All rooms have the Osram bulbs already.”

At this point, I lost it, and my voice began to increase in volume and speed. “Look here, Kumar, I may not be good at math, but if we have 250 rooms in the hotel, and 150 rooms have had the Osram long-life light bulbs installed, and 100 rooms have NOT had the Osram bulbs installed, then we have 100 rooms still to complete, RIGHT??”

“Ohhh, wait…there is something I think you do not understand boss.” came Kumar’s relaxed reply.  “You see, the old style filament light bulbs that we need to replace in the remaining 100 rooms…they are also made by Osram.”

I stopped, stunned, and stared at Kumar for a good 20 seconds.  And he stared right back at me.  And then we both began to laugh.  It was a great lesson about “asking the right questions” and the beginning of a lasting friendship that has seen Kumar transfer to Bali and now to Dubai.  And inevitably, whenever we meet, this story comes up, and we laugh about it still.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post The Changing of the Bulbs appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

February, 2002, and my hotel in Montego Bay, Jamaica was upgrading its computers.  And along with this upgrade, the hotel was upgrading its computer cables.  Yes, computer cables, or commonly known in the IT Community as “CAT 5” cables, which is short for “Category  Five”.  This is the standard rubberized computer cable that connects your PC or laptop into the wall.  These CAT 5 cables come in many colors, like blue, grey, red, and green, and if you look closely, they even say “CAT 5” in white letters along the side.  And in February, 2002, we were getting some new ones (CAT 6 perhaps?), along with the hotel-wide computer upgrade.  Which means that we had hundreds of meters of “old” computer cables, stuffed into cardboard boxes, and we were giving them away to anyone who wanted them.

At the time, I was the Director of Housekeeping, overseeing a team of over 100 Ladies and Gentlemen at the 430-room resort and golf course.  A team who lived far from the hotel, in the hills and villages outside of the resort area of Montego Bay, and who were brought to the hotel each day by our  busses that picked them up at 7:30am sharp.  I once had the privilege of being invited to visit one of the villages where many of them lived, and was struck by the living conditions; many of them lived in houses with makeshift tin roofs, the earth was their floor, and their light bulbs hung on strings attached to the ceiling.  And each day they would get into the resort bus and come to work at the most luxurious resort in the country and perhaps the entire Caribbean, and serve our wealthy guests with a huge genuine smile, in a posh hotel that could not possibly be any more opposite to their own homes.  The massive respect and admiration I have for them remains to this day.

So when one of my Room Attendants named Diane came to see me to request a few meters of extra CAT 5 cable, I found it a bit odd.  I had seen the area where she lived, and was quite certain she would not have a home computer; indeed, if memory served, she may not have even had running water.  What could she possibly want with a computer cable?  Did she intend to sell it?  Did she have a friend somewhere in town that had a computer?  My lack of understanding puzzled me.  So in the most polite way I could muster, I asked her if she knew what this CAT 5 cable was, and what it was used for.  And her reply has stayed with me to this day.

Diane replied, “Yeah mon, I know what it is, but I want it because outside me house me have two small trees, and if I tie de cable between dem trees, it would make a strong clothesline for me to hang de laundry”.  And I stared at her, stunned, humbled, and embarrassed about my own very narrow view of life, and how unappreciative I was of the blessings I had.  So Diane went home that day with 3 meters of CAT 5 clothesline, and I went home with a newfound sense of gratitude, and a reminder that one person’s trash is truly another person’s treasure.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post A Cat With Five Lives appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

Late September 2001, and the world was still on-edge during the weeks after the infamous Twin Tower attacks.  What better time to open a new hotel in the Middle East!  I was working in Montego Bay, Jamaica at the time, and since very few wanted to travel to the Gulf Region during that time, I volunteered and was accepted to go for 2 weeks to assist as a “pre-opening trainer” at the soon-to-open hotel on the West Bay of Doha, Qatar.

As part of our pre-opening procedures, in the days leading up to the opening, we conducted a “mock-fire drill”, which allows the new staff to practice the routes of evacuation should the need ever arise.  The time for the fire drill on my 4^th day in sweltering hot Doha was set for 11am, and I received a piece of advice from one of the local Qatari’s that, looking back, I should have listened to: he said “Mr. Steve, during the fire drill today, make sure you keep moving, don’t stand in one spot, it’s going to be hot”. You see, the evacuation point was the open parking lot outside the hotel, where we would gather our teams, do ‘head-counts’ and make sure everyone was accounted for.

Now excuse me… but first of all, I was living in Jamaica at the time.  The sun was hot, and we worked outside all the time.  And excuse me, but I was a cocky 27 year-old, and naturally I thought I was not only tough, but I knew everything there was to know. So of course, I ignored the advice. “Thanks, my friend” I thought to myself “but a little heat is not going to make me faint or pass out”.  Plus, I figured, we would only be outside for a total of about 10 minutes.

11am came, and the fire alarms sounded as planned.  Out we went, hundreds of Ladies and Gentlemen streaming from all doors of the hotel, to the designated parking lot.  Temperature: 45 degrees Celsius, 113 degrees Fahrenheit.  As my team lined up, and were accounted for, I remember thinking “I am going to just stand here and not move.” I chuckled as I began to sweat, and watched the others pace back and forth, or shift their weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll be fine” I thought to myself.  And despite the extreme heat which blurred the air rising from the black-top parking lot, I WAS fine.  Nothing happened.  So I waited for the notification that all were accounted for, and as the teams started to re-enter the building, I suddenly realized: I had a BIG problem.

As I tried to turn to go back into the hotel, I COULD NOT MOVE MY FEET.  The soles of my shoes had MELTED into the asphalt parking lot, locking me into place right where I stood.  The bottom of my shoes had liquefied into a molten black-chewing gum, and as I slowly pulled, the shoes rose from the ground like black mozzarella cheese.  As it turns out, the advice I received to “keep moving” was NOT to prevent me from passing out under the hot sun, but rather so that my shoes didn’t melt into the pavement! Somehow I managed to dislodge both shoes and squish my way back into the building… the shoes were ruined.  What an embarrassment!

So, a bit of wisdom my friends: when travelling abroad, if you get a piece of advice from a local, PAY ATTENTION, they just may have your best interests in mind!

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post Stuck in Doha appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

I arrived in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia in January 2003 as the un-official “number two” at the hotel, and a month later, my General Manager decided to take a few weeks off to get married, and left me in charge.  As luck would have it, the dates overlapped the February 2003 “Non-Aligned Movement” Summit which was being hosted that year in Malaysia, an international gathering of states which are not aligned formally with or against any major power.

For security purposes, the lobby of the hotel was converted by the government to look like a mini-airport; with armed guards, police, and 2 giant luggage scanners, complete with conveyor belts and TV monitors that were manned by the Malaysian Police 24-7.  We were informed that two obscure African nations and their Presidents had been assigned to stay at our hotel.  And their arrivals were both memorable.

The first delegation arrived with their entourage in their colourful national dress, and after going up to their rooms, the luggage truck arrived, and we began the process of unloading the bags.  One particular bag caught my attention: a large white Styrofoam cooler with side handles, which was dripping from the lid with some sort of red juice, which we soon discovered was blood.  Bird blood.  As in “the President likes to eat this particular type of bird so we killed a couple of fresh ones and put them on ice in this cooler and brought them with us on the plane” type of bird blood.  After discussion, we allowed it, because they brought their own Chef also, so we let him cook the birds in our kitchen.

The second delegation had a different specialty item that they brought from home: guns. Big guns.  What I learned was this: apparently if you are guarding a head of state like a President or Prime Minister, the Malaysian government allows you to bring in a pistol or handgun, which must be declared upon arrival.  But somebody on the welcoming committee forgot to explain the rules to this delegation, and they arrived to the hotel with massive hunting rifles and elephant guns.

Now mind you, it seemed that they knew that security would be tight, so they did make an effort to conceal the weapons, knowing that they would have to go through X-Ray luggage scanners at the hotels.  So how did they conceal the massive rifles?  They wrapped them up in … newspaper. Unfortunately however for this delegation, the Malaysian police were apparently using a “special” type of X-ray luggage scanner that was somehow able to penetrate the newspaper and identify that the large rifle-shaped object was indeed, a large rifle.

I wish you could have seen the reaction of the police officer who was assigned to the luggage scanner. He had spent the past 7 hours or so watching his monitor as mobile phones, watches, and laptops slowly scrolled by.  When the giant hunting rifle came up on the screen he literally jumped out of his chair, eyes bulging, and started shouting what I later learned were very bad words.  An international incident was unfolding, pistols were drawn, and I was in charge, in the lobby, inexperienced, and un-armed.  Luckily the Chief of Police soon arrived on the scene, employed a bit of diplomacy, and sorted things out.  The elephant guns and rifles were sent back to the aircraft, and the African security team was allowed to enter the building.  And I immediately began thinking about another career…which took 10 years to materialize.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post Big Blazing Guns, It’s Blood! appeared first on InnSense Leadership.

March 2001, and the leader of the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Gang was on the run. Tipped off about a pending weapons and narcotics raid at the Hell’s Angels headquarters up in Canada, and wanted for 13 counts of 1^st degree murder, he had disappeared the day before the raid, and, naturally, turned up as a guest in my hotel at the time, a luxurious 5-star resort in Montego Bay, Jamaica.  So much for what we see on TV!

It was an otherwise quiet day when one of my front desk GSA’s poked her head into my office.  “Boss, there are some gentlemen at the front desk who want to speak with you; they say they’re with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”  So out to the lobby I went, expecting to see red jackets and horses, and was disappointed to instead be greeted by 2 non-uniformed Canadian gentlemen with identification.  And two MASSIVE Jamaicans both wearing brightly colored, matching flower print shirts, khaki pants, and sunglasses.

“We are being assisted on this investigation by our compatriots in the Jamaican Police force” mentioned the Canadians, gesturing to the two poorly camouflaged technicolor giants, who comically added in unison, “Undercover”.

I was informed that they were looking for a guest by the name of “Mr. S”, who they believed had arrived yesterday. A quick check of the computer showed that yes indeed, we had a Mr. S registered as a guest, and a quick walk down the hall revealed that no, he was not currently in his room.

After spreading the word to my team to join the hunt, we found a match; an 11 am booking at the Salon at our Spa.  Could it be that our biker had booked a manicure?  But upon arriving at the Spa, we discovered that it was not him, but rather his girlfriend who booked the treatment.  You can imagine her surprise when she looked up and saw the five of us surrounding her.

“He told me he was going out to the pool” she eventually stammered, and before I could say “Canuck”, the Mounties were on their way to the sprawling pool deck at the center lawn of the hotel, with the 2 local giants and me in tow.

Now there is something I need to explain before we go any further: 5-Star resort guests LOVE their pools, often even more than the beach.  And in Jamaica, we had an amazing pool, curvy and voluptuous, just like the 300+ tanned vacationers who were lounging around it that morning, soaking in the warm Caribbean sunshine.

But this was also the problem: how would we know which guest was Mr. S?  Did the Canadian police plan to go chair to chair and ask “Hi, are you with the Hell’s Angels?”  Many awful, complaint-inducing scenarios flashed through my mind, but upon arriving poolside, it became clear that there was no real reason for concern.

You see, lying face down on a pool chair amidst the hundreds of beautiful people in their white and pastel bikinis, was one long-haired gentleman who caught our eye.  No master of disguise, he was wearing frayed jeans, and his back and arms were blanketed in green tattoos.  This had to be our biker, and the Canadians made a beeline for him.

“Mr. S?” they barked, and as the bearded face turned and looked up, the two Jamaicans pushed him down onto the poolchair, handcuffed him behind his back, hauled him onto his feet, and marched him away, as hundreds of stunned hotel guests looked on in silence, some frozen in strange positions during their “pool yoga” class.

As I watched this spectacle unfold in awe, one of the guests leaned over to me, lowered his designer sunglasses, and quietly asked, “Hey, what did THAT guy do?”  And with a straight face and without missing a beat, I quipped,

“Oh, that guy complained a little too much about his room.” And I just walked away.  And for the rest of that week we didn’t have a single complaint; the entire resort was somehow … perfect.

for more true hotel stories visit: www.innsense.com/blog

The post One Hell of a Guest appeared first on InnSense Leadership.