Palm Springs

At the end of every year I like to share a story that I hope makes you smile.

As many of you know I believe we have to speak up and tell the Universe what we want. That doesn’t guarantee we’ll receive it, but if we never ask, the chances are even slimmer.

Also … I am a woman of principles. If you say you’re going to do something, do it. It’s called work ethic. Integrity.

Here goes: A bunch of years ago 3 of my dear music business comrades, (Suzan Koc, Michelle Lewis and Lindy Robbins) decided to treat ourselves to a rare girls weekend in Palm Springs. I called a few hotels in advance inquiring of the availability of 2 connecting rooms so that pre or post dinner we could keep the door open and ‘festivity’ (a verb) together.

I believe it was the Marriot that said they had such rooms. I said “wonderful, are you sure?” and they said “yes” and they happily took my credit card over the phone and booked the reservation.

We piled into a car. I think it was Suzan’s Prius … Lindy in the backseat kvetching about the bumps and the turns and the lights. No surprise. If you’ve ever driven with Lindy (or dined with her or hosted her you know what I mean. (She wouldn’t deny it.)

When we arrived at the hotel it appeared that whoever told us they had connecting rooms was incorrect. My comrades said no big deal. Not me. I asked to talk to the reservations manager. She assured me that I were given the wrong information.

Not my problem.

Now it just so happened I was once a waitress at the Grand Hyatt in NYC … that glass structure that (still) suspends over 42nd St. and it just so happened I dated the food and beverage director who told me that any hotel of any caliber always has spare rooms even if they tell you they’re sold out. In fact they undoubtedly have an unoccupied suite or 2 as well, just in case Bruce Springsteen drops by unexpectedly. I never forgot that.

We checked into our unconnected 😡 rooms. Michelle and Lindy wasted no time getting to the spa. Suzan and I went to the pool where I proceeded to simmer and boil about the misinformation I’d been given. So I picked up a house phone and asked to speak to the general manager of the hotel.

I told him about what happened. He said he was so so sorry. I told him I used to work for Hyatt. (I didn’t tell him I was a waitress!!) and I knew for a fact there was an available suite or 2 laying around somewhere. I told him of the less than rave reviews of the Marriott Palm Springs I could and would share if he didn’t find us an alternative acceptable situation.

Silence.

He put me on hold for a few and when he came back he said “meet me in the lobby.” He indeed had an upgrade for us but wanted to be sure it met our approval before he officially made the swap.

Gladly, I said. Be right there.

I figured he found us a junior suite with a pull -out sofa. Maybe ok. Suzan and I would assess.

He escorted us to the elevator, put his key card in a slot and up we went. Higher and higher. And then down a long long hall. We stopped in front of a door with a plaque on it that said something about “Presidential.”

He opened the door to reveal 3000 sq feet of posh space: 2 bedrooms, 2 marble baths, a kitchen, a butler’s pantry, a dining room and a baby grand piano.

This will due, I said.

I thought so, he said.

He gave me the key. I said thank you and I handed him some cash.

Geez I must have scared the shit out of that guy. I was angry not THAT angry.

Suzan and I went back to the pool where Lindy and Michelle met us after their treatments. Then we brought them upstairs to see if our new digs met their approval. It did. We canceled our dinner reservations put on our white spa robes and ordered dinner up. It was delivered on rolling trolleys and set before us by personal butlers. It was a considerably more elegant experience than we might have had in the lobby coffee shop.

Lindy and I remember things differently after that. I recall, she started banging out Broadway show tunes on that piano. Lindy believes it was I who did that, but I also must confess there was marijuana involved, so who knows?

These days we are paying more and more, and work ethic is getting quieter and quieter. You have to hold people accountable for the their professional promises. Take names. Record the goddamn phone calls.

We have more power than we know.

Have a Happy Christmas, my friends. I hope you’re smiling.

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