Last week, I hit an all time low. Wednesday night, I bolted awake at two in the morning, soaking with cold sweat, with the feeling of spiders crawling all over my skin. I looked around in sheer panic, not recognizing the four walls that seemed to be rapidly closing in on me. After several years of company-paid travel, room service-delivered scotch and flying first class, I found I had hit rock bottom: the Holiday Inn.

My name is Pat, and I am a travel snob.

Years of company-paid travel changes a man. Like most Americans, my first brush with travel was during the family summer vacation. We would spend our nights at various motor lodges, or our home away from home: the Red Roof Inn. Our family of four would occupy a single room, Mom and sis in one bed, Dad and I in the other as we rested up before finishing the long drive over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house.

By virtue of a reasonable education and good timing, I ended up starting my career at the tail end of the economic boom of the late 1990′s. Dot-coms were still investors’ darlings, and companies had more money than they could spend. In their exuberance, they were even willing to finance the worldwide travels of a punk 22-year old. I graduated college having never left North America, and suddenly the world was opened to me. In the course of about two months, I managed to visit Amsterdam, Paris and Las Vegas (four times) on the company dime. During the work week I would stay at high end hotels, and not an eye would be batted if three people went out for a three hundred dollar dinner and “ran it through” as they say.

I had room service available 24/7, Platinum status on airlines and hotels, and a guaranteed room within 24 hours notice the world over. Limos and rental cars on call, and I had sampled the best in fine food and liquor the world over; I had it all.

Of course, that’s all over now. I’m your average schnook. I called room service the other day and asked for a filet and bourbon, and ended up with a cheeseburger and Budweiser.

With the “irrational exuberance” of the late 1990′s over, I’ve been reduced to the Holiday Inn. I’m not on Holiday, and if I were, you can bet your gold medallion that I would not be staying at an “inn” of any sort. I can say this particular Holiday Inn did include one feature I have never seen in a hotel before. At random intervals throughout the evening, my room phone would ring, with no one at the other end of the line. This feature was particularly appreciated at 2 and 4am! The preemptive wake up call, so to speak.

After my tense evenings of “rehab” at the Holiday Inn, I’ve slipped into remission and hit the speed dial for my “dealer:” the Starwood Hotels Platinum hotline. With some creative use of corporate promotional codes, this week I am in the comparative luxury of the Sheraton in the suburbs of northern Chicago. My dealer has been missing me, since he upgraded me to a suite while still remaining within the meager budget my client has allocated towards my weekly lodging “fix.” This is how it starts: an upgrade here, free points there, and then they take it all away. All the same, while it lasts I’ll keep my nose turned up at the Inns of the world. The kids can eat free and I’ll eat my overpriced room service in the comfort of my suite!

Categories: Travel, Work
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