Next Stop, Hotel Hell… All Aboard!!!

Life on the road means life in a hotel. When you’re on vacation, hotels seem a welcome relief from cooking, cleaning, and clutter. When you’re on tour, they can be torture.

I did not book the hotels on this tour. And quite frankly, it shows. When I’m booking hotels, I investigate a property as much as I can before signing on the dotted line. I will call other managers, call the hotel and ask questions, look at the website, and read guest reviews on sites like Tripadvisor.com. I’ve learned the hard way.

Two bad hotels in a row can turn the entire company against you. Even if you didn’t book the hotels or were fooled by a website (with a drawning instead of photos) or good reviews, company members are quick to cast you in the role of “man trying to keep us down.” They don’t consider that you are staying in the same crappy hotel they are. They are miserable and they see you as the cause of it.

The front desk workers are some of the lowest level workers in the hotel. These ambassadors for the hotel meet every guest and face every problem. The position requires they stand for their entire shift, speak well, and juggle multiple tasks and, (too often) answer the phone at the same time. When I heard about Russell Crowe throwing a telephone at a hotel employee, I certainly understood it. I am not a violent person by nature. But should you hear of me being arrested, you can reasonably assume I had an altercation with the minimum wage worker at the front desk and lost my tenuous hold on sanity.

Our first truly horrific hotel on this tour came in Akron, OH. It was a downtown hotel that did not have the “flag” of a national chain. This is never a good sign. When Motel 8 has given up on your property, what’s left? I gasped when I entered my room. The 80s were not over here. I half expected to see Alexis and Crystal Carrington wrestling in a fountain (had the fountain actually had water instead of dusty plastic plants in it).

I got under my paper-thin sheets and turned to the remote to turn on the TV to find it did not work. In the morning, I used the sandpaper-like towel (only one towel in the room) to dry myself. The carpet seemed designed to hide the sins of those who had come before me. It failed. Miserably. After I got dressed, I lifted my foot to see it covered in dirt from walking around the room barefoot. If this hotel doesn’t prompt irate calls to the New York Office, nothing will, I thought. Nobody called.

When I got on my bus to the theatre, I asked how everyone’s room was and one cast member said cheerily: “My room smelled of vomit” in a lovely lilting Irish brogue. “Did you ask to be moved at the front desk?” “No.” he said. “I just lit a candle we’ve been carrying for when the room smells bad.” I guess I’d been getting the better rooms all along and hadn’t even noticed.

When we were in NYC, the hotel rooms were so small, some cast members slept with the luggage in their bed because there was no floor space on which to place the luggage. Again, cast members took it in stride and grumbled quietly under their breath. I pretended not to hear. My luck was to run out.

When we got to St. Louis, a revolt broke out. By the time we got to our rooms, it was 4:20am. The stars of the show started to text me right away. “Disgusting” “Horrible” “Law and Order Crime Scene.” I called down to the front desk (night auditor) who told me the hotel was sold out and there were no rooms to move to for anyone. Who knows if it was really sold out? I’ve discovered the front desk night staff are auditors and some do not know how to check in someone or make keys. Their main task is to post the charges and be a warm body in case of disaster.

I tried my best to calm people by reassuring them that if they could just sleep tonight, I would do my best to get them moved to another room or hotel in the morning. The next hour my phone continued to be barraged with texted photos of water-stained ceilings, broken chairs, and what appeared to be bloody handprints all over a wall. I half expected crime scene police tape in some of the shots.

After 3 hours of sleep, I was on to the morning manager who helped me. My complaints were not a surprise to her. She offered no resistance or surprise when I described the rooms as not acceptable. She helped move 14 rooms to newer rooms.

Eventually, I was able to get 14 free rooms credited to the master folio for all the people who had complained and had to change rooms the next day. I wanted to pass this money onto the injured parties, but my boss wanted to use the money to help defray the increasing cost of fuel for the sleeper bus. It seemed wrong, but it was not my fight to have. As long as the cast never found out about the refund, the crap would not hit the fan. As of right now, the fan is clean.

I am on the sleeper bus heading out of Shreveport, LA. We have just had two miserable days off here. My boss put us at a “Holiday Bin” (as in trash bin) that was a few feet from a very active train track. All night long, trains blared horns and came and went. One leading lady texted me (at 8:00am) to say she was going back on the sleeper bus. She had been up all night and now there was construction on our floor and there was loud banging.

Even though our contract with the hotel specifically forbids construction during our stay, the hotel has the upper hand. What are you going to do when you arrive at 3am with 50 people who all go to bed and construction starts at 7:30am? Are you going to call every member of the group and have them meet you in the lobby and leave? Where are you going?

Even if you have cause to get out of the hotel contract, you don’t have a budget to spend more money on rooms. Hotel rooms at the last minute are rarely at a discount. It is like rental cars. They know you need it, and it is going to cost you. Priceline does not offer discounts for 50 rooms.

In all my years of touring, I think I’ve seen it all by now. Did you know that some hotels pay the housekeepers by the number of rooms they clean? I found out when a housekeeper in Hershey, PA pushed her way into my room and ran to the phone all while I stood there in my underwear. She mumbled something about how she had to check the room for security reasons. She seemed neither horrified nor impressed by my choice of underwear or man boobs .

When I complained to the front desk, they explained she had gone to the phone to punch in a code telling the hotel system she had cleaned the room.

While at another hotel, the housekeeper slipped a note under my door saying “Please let me clean today, I get paid by room.” I read the note and felt rich and sad at the same time.

Do Exactly As I Say

Like any job, there is a way to do things. On the road, there is only one way to do things. It has to be that way. With 40-60 people touring and that many opinions about how things should run, routine prevents chaos.

Our show has a number of sleeper bus drivers. Traditionally, these drivers are older men who have toured with every big name in rock and roll or country music. They have seen all kinds of bad behavior. Our show features no divas and right now just one bit of bad behavior and it’s from the bus driver himself.

We have 4 drivers and they all travel to and from the same places. Three drivers choose one direction, the diva driver choses another direction. This is of no concern provided something doesn’t go wrong. But something always goes wrong.

Five miles outside of Sioux Falls after the show, I got a call from the star bus to say the bus had pulled off a highway entrance ramp and started to sink in the mud on the shoulder. As the right side of the bus started to sink, the bus started to lean to the right. One leading lady screamed “Get my babies” and folks grabbed the three sleeping kids and made their escape. Then they waited by the side of the highway in the cold, in their pajamas until our other buses could circle back.

By then, we were about 5 miles away. It was the longest 5-mile journey in my life. Eventually, a tow truck was called and they were able to pull the leaning bus out of the muck. It turned a 6-hour journey into a 7.5 hour one. Sounds pretty mundane, doesn’t it? Nobody was arrested. There were no injuries. It ranks just above watching paint dry. But when you are on a touring show, anything your group does is news. The local TV Station picked up the story and even Associated Press ran the story complete with photos from a highway cam of our buses pulled over.

Why had the driver pulled over on an entrance ramp to a highway? One of the other drivers suspected he was doing a dump (Dumping the toilet storage tank). Since this is illegal, he would never admit that. First he told folks, he suspected something was wrong with the bus. When questioned about the health of the bus, he said it was fine and he was really looking for his cell phone charger when he accidentally drove off the road. Whoops. He thought that made him look better doing an illegal dump?

Once when I was on a tour that had chartered a jet and landed at a small Pennsylvania airport, a local reporter showed up while we were waiting for our bus. When asked how she even knew we were there, she said she had gotten a tip from a local resident that a large plane was landing and she rushed over the to small airport to see if we were news. Chalk that up to a slow news day in Pennsylvania.

The tour is counting down the days (19) until the end. There is something about knowing the finish line is ahead that makes the home stretch seem very distant.

Face Meet Step

Not feeling well on the road is enough to make you sick. While in Albany, NY and awaiting a late cast member, I walked back towards the hotel front lobby through the carport to see if I could find her. Unfortunately, the carport at the Holiday Inn Express had mock cobblestones. I tripped on a cobblestone and went face first into the edge of concrete step.

Since I am short, the distance between being upright and my face meeting the step is pretty small to begin with. Still, I was stunned to be catapulted so quickly without even a second to put my arms up to catch my fall. As I stood erect (not that way), I knew I would have to go to the hospital. The blood was gushing from a deep cut both inside and outside my mouth. I ran my tongue over my teeth to see if any felt chipped or broken. They didn’t. My million dollar smile was bloodied but intact.

When you are at home and you call your doctor’s office, they tell you to come into the office in a month. Your only option on the road is an urgent care clinic or the emergency room at a local hospital. Unless you are shot or bleeding, it is a very good rule to stay away from the emergency room.

If you have to eat dirt, Albany is a good place to do it. The wait was not long and everyone there kept calling me “hun.” (Even people clearly younger and less southern than me.) 12 stitches and about 2 hours later, I was done. The physicians’ assistant who stitched me up instructed me get the stitches removed in a week or else a “railroad track” scar could occur.

The touring company gave me the standard dose of sympathy their busy schedule could provide for that day. I debated wearing a band-aid over the injury to hide the stitches. However, from a distance, the sides of the band-aid dissolved from view and the center cotton pad made me look like I was an asian Hilter impersonator (And not a very good one at that).

A week later, I found myself in Richmond waiting at an Urgent Care Clinic with a waiting room full of people who seemed all to be waiting to undertake a random drug test. A black doctor about my own age came in and read my chart. He laughed out loud: “Stitches?!? I haven’t taken out stitches in over 10 years! “ “Why didn’t you do it yourself?” He asked. “I want to help you pay for your boat.” I replied. He got some sharp instrument and headed towards my face and retorted: “Uh huh. I don’t have a boat. I can’t even pay my rent.”

Beads of sweat started to form on my bald spot.

It’s been a few weeks since then and I’m sporting a small scar right above my lip on the right-hand side. I’ve decided to tell folks I got it while fencing with one of the female leads on my show.

One crew member who shares my office has been sick a few times on this short tour already. This tour requires we travel and sleep on a sleeper bus. Once one person is sick, it is easily spread all though the company. The bus is pretty posh with a front and back lounge and kitchen. It sleeps 12 and has satellite television and High(ish) speed Internet.

There are only two rules for a sleeper bus. First: you may not do “number 2” on the bus, ever. Second: You must always sleep with your feet facing the driver. In case the driver should have to slam on the breaks, you will slide in the direction of your feet and not your neck. There is no rule about washing your hands on the bus if you are feeling sick and we are all the worse for it.

The tour is now moving west and that means an earlier time zone. Connecting with friends and family will now be even harder. Easter is approaching and although there don’t seem to be any devout Catholics on this tour, people are excited about the holiday.

We will be in a major city for the 2 days prior and 1 day after the holiday. Family and friends are visiting but not mine. I will make a reservation for Easter dinner tomorrow. One Easter dinner in Denver, I at Burger King because all the downtown eateries were booked solid or closed. Misery, table for one. Right this way.

Why was the chain “Holiday Inn Express” created?

Was having staff, room service and convenient locations slowing things down?

We have three couples (that I know of, anyway) currently on tour. Two of them are struggling. It puts the company on edge. When one person says they are breaking up with their “other half” are you supposed to take sides? If you agree it is a good idea and they get back together, you are remembered as the guy who tried to break up their great love. Two days ago, one of these couples got into a physical fight stage right in the wings during the show. Crew members broke it up and then the woman who was being shoved told everyone there to “butt out because it’s not your business.” She almost got hit again.

Office politics are magnified many times over when you live in the office.

What’s New On The Treadmill?

If you’ve ever been on the road with a show, you’ve no doubt heard people ask in an excited manner about your work. The life they project on you is about as different from the reality as chalk and cheese. Traveling for work means being away from the routines of the usual home life: dishes, vacuuming and a 9 to 5 life. You are not on vacation. You are not touring with friends. You are not in control of your schedule. Everything is in service of the show. Your personal life/health/happiness is not a consideration.

That is not to say your employer wants you to be unhappy. It is quite the contrary. You are expensive to replace. You are here in the service of someone else’s dream.

A frustrating reality for a manager of a tour is, you will never be viewed as a person who is not his job. I would never approach a performer at the Barnes and Noble coffee shop and ask them to sing me a few bars from my favorite song from the show. To the performer, if you exist, you are deemed to be working.

“Ummm. What time is the bus leaving on Tuesday?” “I forgot to get my cash per diem, can I get it now?” “Do you know the name of the hotel we are staying at in Chicago?” I have had people ask me these things as they ran into me on the street on a day off, at dinner with friends, or the newest method… The midnight text message.

It is a small wonder managers isolate themselves from the company members. There is so little free time from work.

I called this posting “What’s New On The Treadmill” because the tour is at the stage where everyone knows the routine. Here’s a rundown of where we’ve been:

Baltimore: Except for the crab cakes, I can’t say I like this town much. A dancer from a touring company of JOLSON: The Musical was mugged here in 1998 and shot in the neck when he refused to surrender his backpack. He was paralyzed by the attack. Ever since news of that attack, I have dreaded coming to Baltimore.

When we arrived one of our bus drivers decided to park the bus in no-parking zone at the hotel. He says he asked someone at the front desk and they said it was okay. (Front desk staff at the hotel are the lowest people on the totem pole at the property). Then, the driver left town to visit his family in Richmond. Angry hotel management called me and demanded the bus be moved the next afternoon. I called the driver back from Richmond and had him park the bus where we had told him to park in the first place. Neither of us was happy.

Uncasville, CT/ Mohegan Sun Casino: Nestled in the middle of woods of Connecticut is a sprawling, shimmering casino and hotel. The hotel is used to hosting stars of all magnitudes so everything was perfect. I got a small thrill when I walked to a private entrance to meet my bus and was met by a man in a suit who asked me: “Are you here to go to the heliport?” “Umm, no. But that sounds nice.” I replied. Deflated, he turned to walk away and out from a door behind him came Elton John and his small entourage. Mr. John walked like an old man (A rich old man).

Boston, MA: I knew this was going to be a difficult city. Even though we had secured bus parking at our Hyatt right near the edge of Chinatown and a small walk to the Wang Theatre, there was no parking to be had. It seems Elton John’s band had parked their sleeper buses in our spots. Damn that Old Man, Parking-Stealing Elton John! The hotel got the city to tow the “mass-holes” from the spots they had reserved for Mr. John’s buses and we could park 2 of our buses. The others went off to a rest area. The show went off without a hitch and everyone enjoyed a day off in my home state.

When it came time to depart, we were missing a musician. I sent one bus off and held the other bus back while I had hotel security open his door After calls to his room and cell went unanswered. The room looked as though Guns and Roses might be passed out under a pile of bottles. I stood at the foot of the bed to see if the musician was breathing. He was. I yelled his name. Nothing. I yelled it again. This time he mumbled. I mustered up my most God-like voice and told him to get up. Still drunk, he shot out of his bed and at attention shirtless and in his underwear. I told him I’d hold the bus while we threw his stuff in his suitcases. This musician had no understudy and he knew it. I couldn’t have left him behind if I wanted.

To add the final insult to injury, the hotel charged my bill $311.00 in smoking penalty and minibar charges for this musician because he never presented a credit card at the front desk for his incidentals.

I went to Yankee Candle yesterday. I bought a candle and it went like this:

Clerk: “Sir, did you know you have to cut these wicks to 1/8^th inch before lighting?”

(she cuts the wick with a strange L-shaped scissors).

Me: “No, I didn’t know that, thanks.”

Clerk: “Would you like to buy this wick trimmer, $9.95?”

Me: “No, I own scissors.”

Clerk: “What’s your phone number?”

Me: “I don’t care to share my personal information unless you’re willing to share yours. What’s your phone number?”

Clerk: (Looking as if she saw something smelly on the bottom of her shoe) “No.”

Me: “Once you give up your privacy, you don’t get it back.”

Clerk: (Not giving up). “Are you registered online for our discounts?”

Me: “I’m not willing to trade my private information for ½ price off my 4^th purchase of an overpriced candle.”

Yankee Candle Christmas Wreath scent: $22.99,

Pushy Clerk: minimum wage,

Giving it right back: Priceless.

It's Sure Great To Be Here... Wherever You Say I Am

The Holiday Inn Bordeaux is named after the region in France although the reason is obviously not apparent. It is a downtrodden area of Fayetteville, North Carolina. There is a 5-story, all white replica of the Eiffel Tower very close to the drive-in Subway on the corner. We arrived here last night about 2am after our show in Charlotte. We have been hopscotching into North and South Carolina for about a week.

In the shadow of Fort Bragg, Fayetteville is a military town. Tonight, the hotel is overrun with young men (mostly) and women in dress uniform celebrating a “Military Ball.” It was nice to see the neatly-groomed men and dolled up women entering the Holiday Inn as I waited to get a taxi to the mall. Sadly, I had a lot of time to watch the men and women arriving or enjoying their Marlboros as the cab never came.

It isn’t really news, though. Outside of major metropolitan areas, cabs service poor people who don’t have a car. This is a captive audience. Firms tell you they are coming just to get the option to get the fare so you don’t call anyone else. When you call back 20 minutes later and you get no answer, you have to decide if you should stick it out or call someone else. In one town, I once called for a cab and the woman politely told me: “Oh, he isn’t working today.” Today, after waiting 1 hour and calling 4 different companies (only one answered), I gave up and walked to supermarket and got dinner.

I didn’t want to go to the mall anyway really. My bags are overstuffed with the clothes I brought from home. But my boss emailed me this afternoon to ask me to go to the mall and get a birthday present from the producer for a 3 year old touring with us who is having the birthday tomorrow. She is the daughter of one of our stars. As much as I would have enjoyed staying in reading all day, I was genuinely looking forward to getting to buy a toy for a kid. I have no nieces or nephews and little kids are really cute and fun (until they are 18 and blame you for everything that is wrong in their life).

I will get up early tomorrow and try to get out to the mall at about 10am. Maybe I’ll have more luck then. The emailed directive said: “girly princess stuff or dolls.” Something tells me I may be scouring the supermarket tomorrow for something other than Princess Jasmine paper plates.

One of the performers said to the Charlestown audience: “It is great to be here in North Carolina!” Unfortunately, Charlestown had not moved and was still in South Carolina. She had done the near equivalent of sleeping with her husband’s brother (at least here in the south). She did her best to gamely joke it off. The rest of the company “felt her pain” as Clinton would say. None of us could really tell you where we were by that day.

In the last 8 days, we were in North Charleston, SC, Winston-Salem, NC, Clemson, SC, Ashville, NC, Salem VA, Charlotte, NC, and Fayetteville, NC. One company member told me backstage that the make up artist had fainted during a previous leg of the tour and an EMS worker revived her and asked her: “What city are you in?” “You’d better not ask her that.” The co-worker said. Puzzled, the EMS worker tried again: “What day of the week is it?” “No. Don’t ask her that either,” the co-worked said. “Try something with math.”

I'm Your Biggest Fan

I am always amazed at the behavior of fans. They think they know performers because they have heard performers “over-sharing” on media from the Weather Channel to Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab. Throw in the kind of access on Facebook, Twitter and performer websites, and “celebrities” shouldn’t be surprised when fans know the names of kids, birthdays and the preferred brand of dryer sheets.

Certainly celebrities did not pursue the spotlight to be ignored later. Few imagined they traded away every bit of privacy for the pedestal. There is a tiny range of acceptable fan behavior before it turns border-line creepy. To tell someone you enjoy their work is fine. To tell someone you have all their CDs and listening to their music cured you in some way will get you on a list of people security will know.

To think a performer is singing to you specifically at a concert is the equivalent of hearing voices.

I have seen it all. Patrons want public performances dedicated to them because it is their birthday, anniversary or tonight is the night that they are celebrating a similar event.

Let’s do that math. If there are 2000 people at a show, and 365 days a year, then there will likely be 5.5 people in the house with a birthday at that show. Still the requests come “if you could just announce Happy Birthday to… before the show” as though we are all at a “low rent” wedding reception or Bingo Night at the Lion’s Club.

Performers do not want your gifts, cards, flowers or food. They prefer cash.

Gifts: If you are seeing someone in your town, chances are it is because they are on tour. What are they going to do with a ceramic pelican or 12 pounds of hardcover books about your hometown?

Cards: They don’t know you. They know you like them by the fact that you are in the audience. Don’t send a card back.

Flowers: Flowers begin dying the moment they are cut. By the time your flowers are given to celebrity (if they ever are), they are half dead. Even if they make it fully fresh, they are seen for a moment and then left behind. Don’t blame the celebrity. Touring life is harder dragging two suitcases, a computer and a vase with tulips.

Food: Would you eat food given to you by someone you don’t know? (Not if you ever listened to your mother.) Add to this that most performers are watching their weight very carefully. Looking good (aka skinny) is a full time job. Your chocolate covered cherries will be left behind.

Cash: This universal gift excites everyone. But you’ve already bought a ticket. So keep yours.

My Bad!

After the show in Tupelo, MS, we boarded our buses for the journey to New Orleans. I was nervous about this check in because I have never had good luck at New Orleans hotels. It seemed my worry was for nothing as Brooke, the front desk agent, even met the buses outside with the key packets at 4:30am.

I staggered to my bed and was asleep by 5:30am. My cell phone rang at 9am with my contact in Biloxi asking why the group had not checked in last night. I explained we were checking in there tonight. “Oh, my bad.” She said and hung up. This had me spooked. I got up from bed and checked my hotel contract and rooming list. It was correct. It was her “bad.” I lay back in bed when the phone rang 30 minutes later. “The hotel is saying I have no room.” The bus driver said exasperatedly. I explained he was already checked in and pre-keyed. He should not tell the front desk he was there to check in, just that a key was waiting there for him. Situation resolved. The phone rang again. The hairdresser called to say the hotel had called her in her room to say she needed to come down and pay for her room immediately.

All room and tax charges are routed to the master folio and none of the touring personnel pays for their rooms. I called and spoke to two more front desk people.

Freshly showered and dressed, I walked towards the French Quarter. Bourbon Street was a mistake. There is nothing there except tee shirt shops, strip clubs and tourist restaurants. When I wasn’t dodging urine and stale beer, I was trying to get past tourists walking slow enough as though not to be noticed by an imagined motion detector.

I found a place for an early lunch and an oyster po’ boy sandwich. It was beyond perfection. I walked back to the hotel, packed up and headed down to the buses. Today is Valentine’s Day and like New Year’s Eve, it is a time when being single stings. The swirl of flowers, cards and chocolate-covered strawberries remind you that you have not found someone to share romantic silliness. Being away from home and the boss on tour means you are not going to anytime soon.