From the Editor’s Desk: Complimentary (Premium)

As I write this, we’re between the third and fourth of four back-to-back trips, the first time I can recall traveling like this since before the pandemic. This experience has triggered an interesting rush of mixed feelings and has been a reminder of the pros and cons of traveling.

Granted, we’ve traveled a lot in the past few years, but mostly to Mexico City, and we’ve settled into a familiar rhythm there in which it’s typically the same flight on the same airline to the same place in a kind of dull Groundhog Day-type repetition. In some ways, that’s not really travel, it’s just my wife and I moving between our two places, one of which happens to be in another country. Travel, real travel, is about exposing yourself to different things, and in doing that, you’re forced to improvise and change in the face of change.

I’m out of practice, so that doesn’t always go well. I have memories of my habits and traditions, the things I’ve done to streamline travel and minimize the terrible parts. But these things are underutilized, and so now I approach travel much like a neophyte, unsure if I’m doing it right. I guess it is like riding a bike. But it’s been awhile.

Plus, four back-to-back trips introduces its own form of brain fog. The first of these was to Seattle, from Sunday, May 19 to Thursday, May 23 for Microsoft Build. This trip was complicated by Microsoft not inviting the press to the event until very late in the process, leading to me scurrying to book unnecessarily expensive flights. Further complicating matters, a friend was planning to visit Mexico City the week before Build, and had I not been going to Seattle, I would have tried to meet up with him there instead.

But Build finally did happen, my wife decided she wanted to go, and we booked the flights. It was a whirlwind, expensive trip, a long-overdue chance to catch up with friends at Microsoft and in the area to a degree that wasn’t possible on my previous trip to Seattle, in November for Microsoft Ignite. Which raises an interesting point: I’ve flown for three work trips since the pandemic, and all three were to Seattle. (I’ve also had a few driving-based work trips to New York City.)

Anyway, we always fly out of Newark, New Jersey, which is about an hour and 20 minutes from our home without traffic. And that necessitates some planning. Depending on the length of the trip, we will park in a garage near the terminals, long-term parking, or a nearby hotel that offers a room for one night and then long-term parking for the car. But if we’re away too long—3 weeks or more—we’ll just take an Uber back and forth from the airport. It’s expensive, but not as expensive as those other options. And oddly enough, it’s worked out fine each time, at least so far, despite the length of the drives.

This trip would be short, and the early departure that Sunday morning determined which option we’d use: Stephanie booked a night at the Home2Suite next to the airport, a no frills, Hilton-owned hotel with five nights of parking. And then we headed over there late Saturday so we could check in and go grab some dinner nearby.

This gave us our first experience with forced improvisation. I had picked the room and checked in electronically ahead of time, so we didn’t technically need to check in at the desk. But Stephanie did so regardless because she wanted to figure out the shuttle schedule: In addition to the room and parking, there’s a shuttle to the airport terminals every 30 minutes. She reserved the 5:30 am shuttle with the woman at the desk but told her we’d change that if needed once the two of us made sure that was the best option. We went upstairs, dropped off the bag, discussed the schedule, and decided 5:30 was correct. And then we headed back downstairs to head out for dinner.

Stephanie didn’t have to stop at the desk, but she did so almost as a courtesy, to confirm that the 5:30 shuttle we had selected worked. But she was told, by the same woman who had taken this reservation less than 7 minutes ago, that the 5:30 shuttle was full, and we’d have to select a different shuttle.

Nope.

Normally, I’d be the one getting in this person’s face. But Stephanie had interacted with her, and I just sort of let it happen. She explained that we had already booked the 5:30 shuttle, but the woman said that we hadn’t, and that another couple had come in after us and taken the last slots. Stephanie told her that we paid for this service, paid a lot for this service given the room and five nights of parking, and expected to get what we paid for. To that, the woman at the desk said something rather extraordinary.

“The shuttle service is complimentary,” she said, as if that made taking it away from us OK.

My wife and I exchanged a look. The thing is, we’re both writers, and we routinely engage in conversations about words and word use, the type of thing most would find horrifically boring. I laughed to myself, I couldn’t help it. Unhelpful, I know.

Ignoring me, Stephanie looked back at the woman. “That doesn’t mean what you think it means,” she said. “But it also doesn’t matter. We paid for a package that includes a room, parking, and shuttle to the airport, and I can show you that our reservation doesn’t say that. I also told you 10 minutes ago when we checked in that we wanted the 5:30 shuttle, and you agreed. We need to be on the 5:30 shuttle.”

Nice.

But the woman didn’t budge. It was full. We would have to take a different shuttle. So I finally tagged in.

“I’m curious,” I said. “Is the bed in our room complimentary? The air conditioning? Where do you draw the line on what you think we paid for and what you seem to think we aren’t paying for?”

Confused silence. I wasn’t done.

“I have an idea. Why don’t you call those people who came in behind us and tell them that you were wrong, and they can’t get on the shuttle? Or why don’t you just have enough shuttle space for the people staying here since this is the freaking point of this hotel?”

After another moment of silence, she picked up a phone and tried to get another shuttle to come at 5:30. And when that failed, she finally did something bordering on correct: She told us we could take an Uber and that the hotel will deduct the cost of the ride from our bill. Not perfect. Not exactly right. But close enough. And in the morning, we zipped out of there in front of a crowd of people waiting for a 5:30 shuttle that was running a bit late, go figure. Those guys really need to get on top of this.

The rest of the day went well despite the early departure. The flights to and from Seattle are long, longer than the flights to Mexico City, which doesn’t feel right. But we had a good experience there, and the Hilton that Microsoft booked for us but did not pay for allowed us to check in early, which was great because we were there well before lunch. The week passed in a blur of friends and acquaintances I’d not seen, in some cases, for years. And then we flew home that Thursday, exhausted. The car was where we left it—I had vague fears of some form of retribution from the front desk flunkie—and we drove home. It was a long day.

A long day followed by another long day: We drove up to the Finger Lakes in upstate New York the next day. Fortunately, that couldn’t happen until mid-afternoon, so I had time to get some writing done in the morning. And then we were off. That was a great trip, we always visit there with my sister and her husband over the Labor Day and Memorial Day long weekends, and this time some other friends came as well. We drove home Sunday, it’s about 3 and a half hours, and then had three days at home before the next trip. To Boston to visit family and friends between last Thursday and Sunday. Also great, also a blur. Also, lots of driving, about 5 hours each way, in this case. And here we are.

Our flight to Mexico City is early tomorrow morning, and so Stephanie booked the same hotel with the parking and shuttle, presumably because it was such a great experience last time. (I decided not to ask. I’m not an idiot.) We’re working today from home, cleaning up and packing, and then we’ll Uber to the hotel around dinner time—we have a nephew stay in our place to watch the cats and a niece who will be using our car while we’re gone—and take a shuttle to the airport. In the morning. And I do have to know the schedule.

“Hey, babe,” I began, cautiously. “Um. What time is our shuttle in the morning?”

“It’s at 6:00 am,” she replied from across the townhouse. “And yes, I did reserve it ahead of time. I’m bringing a printout.”

There will be no improvising this time.