In September, I lifted off for a travel writers’ conference in Detroit, Michigan. I’d never been to Detroit (other than to change planes, which I’ve been told doesn’t count), so I was excited to see the city. And, after a long nonstop flight, I was especially excited to see my hotel room.
The host hotel for the conference was a beautiful historic property in the heart of Motor City. My room was huge, comfortable and beautifully decorated… and emitted a supremely weird smell. Think ammonia meets Windex meets bleach. The smell was overpowering. Unfortunately, the hotel’s windows were sealed, so there was no letting in fresh air. My only option was to prop open the door to my room while I was unpacking. I hoped the odor might dissipate into the hall.
After an hour, I went to meet some friends for dinner. Later, as I left the elevator and walked back to my room, I began smelling that same harsh chemical odor. The closer I got to my room, the stronger the smell. And when I opened the door, it was a full-on olfactory assault. About 15 minutes later my eyes were burning, and I figured it was time to cry “Uncle!” and request a room change.
I traipsed down 11 floors to the front desk to explain the situation. “No problem,” the clerk said. He would be happy to move me to another room on the same floor. He gave me new room keys, and I hurried back to my room to stuff everything I had carefully unpacked back into my suitcase to move down the hall.
When I opened the door to my new (and much smaller) room, I saw that the bed was unmade, towels were piled on the floor in the bathroom, and the trash was overflowing. But NO smell. Unclean or not, I could work with this room. Back down 11 floors to request clean sheets and towels. I asked the clerk to just send up the sheets, and I’d happily make the bed myself.
The staff person who delivered the sheets and towels was outraged on my behalf that I’d been given a room that wasn’t clean. I explained to him that I didn’t mind at all because the room wasn’t going to asphyxiate me. What I did mind was that the hotel had sent queen-sized sheets for the room’s king-sized bed. Oh well. Whatever. I could make it work for one night.
The conference kicked off the next day, and I went into organizer mode. I was overseeing an event that paired freelance travel writers in pitch meetings with top editors from Bon Appétit, AARP, Travel + Leisure, National Geographic and several other publications. Each freelancer had 8 minutes to pitch their story idea(s) in a one-on-one meeting with an editor—think speed dating with success measured by securing a writing assignment as opposed to finding a love match.
I had multiple copies of each attendee’s meeting schedule, since past experience had taught me that 5% of the attendees would lose their schedules somewhere in the 20 feet between the check-in desk and the attendee’s first appointment. Another 5% would lose theirs while moving from one appointment to the next, and an additional 10% would drop theirs during the walk back to their hotel rooms post-event. To the 80% of attendees who managed to not lose their schedules, glasses, backpacks, portfolios, etc. as they moved about the room, I offer a rousing huzzah!!
Once my event was finished, I could sit back, relax and coast through the rest of the conference. Detroit surprised me in a good way. The food at every event was terrific, the evening event spaces—including the Henry Ford Museum of Innovation and the Detroit Art Museum—were fantastic, and every local person I met was helpful, kind and friendly. A special shoutout to the hotel’s housekeeping staff, who tidied up my new (non-smelly) room and made up my bed with the correct-sized sheets.
I’ll be back Detroit.
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