The Little Things.
Not willing to face another conference dinner talking shop, drinking too much and not enjoying himself too much, James decided despite the beautiful surroundings of the conference centre, he would rather commute for these 2 days from the nearest city. On Google Maps, it looked doable and at least he would get to explore a wonderful UK city in the evening, maybe even get to try a special Welsh dinner, if such a thing existed, as well.
So, Internet savvy, that James was, a branded hotel was quickly sourced and booked for the two day jaunt.
The day of travel did go as well as planned. For some reason, the railway timetable application on the iPhone, normally excellent for route planning, refused to show certain routes only though James was very aware that there should have other options. Anyway to cut the story short, James did not make Plan A, improvised a Plan B en-route and ended up having to make 3 stop-overs and spending the last leg of the trip on a train from the 1950s or so it seemed.
So it was early evening on arrival at the hotel. The reception area was not very clearly marked and for a few moments, James though he had entered through a side entrance that seemed to be for the bar. That was not the case, it was that the reception and the bar were sort of joined in such as way that the receptionist could also be the barmaid.
Check in was fairly rapid especially when the receptionist mumbled through some blurb about special offers on Broadband, Internet, TV and the like, something about breakfast. Poor girl was obviously not English and was avoiding too many questions, James had to surmise as he headed for the single lift. It is interesting that in the last three or four years, the hotel industry in the UK appears to be nearly solely staffed by foreign and usually beautiful 'students'.
James signed up to the £9.99 per day broadband offer which needed to be done on the room TV. Then he discovered how stupid human beings can be. To connect his laptop to the Internet to deal with some emails, he had to drag a cable from behind the television, across the front of the wardrobe onto the little desktop. The cable just was long enough - to connect to the laptop if it was balanced right at the edge of the worktop. And you had to be careful in pulling that cable as he discovered saving the TV from bouncing of the carpeted floor. When the cable was stretched the TV had to be twisted slightly that you had to be on the other side of the bed to watch it comfortably.
A tour of the city's main entertainment area followed and he settled for one of the branded Italian restaurants followed by a few beers in a couple of the local drinking holes and a return for sleep.
Just as he was ready to turn in, James noticed what sounded like a train pass the hotel and it sounded real close. He hadn't noticed that before. A quick glance out the window confirmed his fear, a railway line ran right past the hotel. No mention of that in the brochure was there but then again who would build a hotel next to a railway line? He hoped it was not a busy line and went to bed.
Half past two in the morning, he bolted up from his sleep. An alarm - a very loud alarm was going off. As his sleepy mind tried to determine whether this was fire alarm or one of those panic alarms that some hotels have for disabled guests, the alarm stopped. James waited a few minutes to hear if there were sounds of evacuation going on before settling down again.
In the morning, James had a white coffee with two sugars as he prepared to go to the conference. Later breakfast for £4.99 was quite sparse and whilst tucking into toast and coffee, James overheard the non-native English speaker receptionist trying to appease a gentleman who obviously was upset about the midnight alarm episode - whilst the manageress hid somewhere in the back office? Let's just say Welsh English and Eastern European English does not equal effective communication!
That evening, James sauntered back into the hotel to freshen up and drop of the conference stuff earlier than he had been the night before. He was determined to find a better place to eat and have a drink afterwards, nor did he want too late a night. Up two flights and he discovers that his key does not work, requiring a return trip to reception to re-program. No apology given but then none was asked for!
A good evening was had though the Welsh meal eluded our James and so it came to the check-out morning. After personal business, James though he would have a coffee as he packed up all his stuff. He finds 1 sugar and no teaspoons. Obviously whoever cleaned his room would have worked out that surely the person in this room drinks coffee, white, 2 sugars and therefore be likely to want to do so again? Some improvisation was in order.
And finally, he had to send some files into the office before setting off to the conference so the Internet access was set up only to find that £9.99 24 hour access doesn't quite mean the same to everyone. Foy the one paying it means from the time one pays whether 9am or 9pm to the next occurrence of such time, for the ones extracting the cash it seems to mean until midnight the day of the payment!
You can imagine the probability of James' use of these hotels again. Despite that the hotel was clean, the staff fairly friendly and it was a reasonable cost, James will probably never stay in a hotel from this group again.
And yet it is the small things that make so much of a difference to us. Everyone expects the big things to be done right, it is what is done with the small important stuff that makes for the experience. It is so true for business and this is true for so many other things, including, very important this, our relationships.
When I see people complain about how they have done everything for their partners during break-ups, 'I cooked for him', 'I ironed her skirts, man', 'I changed the damn nappies', I wonder how many times did you notice when they were sad and down or needed some alone time? How many times did you do something so unexpected it made them smile broadly and happily? Think about it.
You heard it from Le Raconteur.