The Negotiation

Honoring My End

To preface: this piece is about human nature, not travel. Remember, I’m not writing about travel, yet.

That said, recently, I arrived at a hotel two days earlier than I was booked to check in.

Traveling freely, as I often do, just a skeleton of a loose schedule, moving from place to place, "researching" potential Global Scavenger Hunt destinations, according to my accountant. And apparently the IRS, too. I usually spend a day or two, here and there, curiously exploring. Often seeing and doing more before noon than most do in days. It's my nature. Sometimes, decisions come quickly about a destination's viability, and I simply move on. Been there, done that…where's next? Which was the case on this particular day. I know, right, it's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it!

When I arrived at this chic old-town boutique hotel, I asked the effervescent front desk gal, Yol, if they had any rooms at the inn. Yol happily confirmed that yes, indeed, they did.

I said, "Great! I am here early and wonder if you'll honor our agreed price?" Yol typed, and demurred. Then asked me to please sit tight for a second. She disappeared into a secret backroom chamber for some type of consultation. Quickly returning, sadly saying sorry, but no. Unfortunately, I was informed that my nightly rate would actually be about US$100 a night more than it will be in two days time…when I actually arrive!? Hmmm, I smile-frowned. And so the games begin.

I asked Yol if she was the decision-maker. Thinking perhaps a well-placed sawbuck equivalent might do the trick, as it so often does for a better room or extraordinary service. Swiss francs, Singapore dollars, and Eskimo pence always lube the gears of business; just ask Transparency International. But nope, she wasn't budging. And Yol hesitantly informed me she wasn't the head honcho, either.

I politely asked if I could chat with this sophisticated establishment's decision-maker (aka the day manager). And out came an obviously perturbed gnashed-teeth-smiling man named Tonis from the secret backroom.

I calmly urged Tonis to honor our previously agreed to price, earning the fashionable property an extra couple of days of revenue. Instead, he told me that the revenue manager had already chimed in and that, although he was very sorry, he had zero flexibility in the matter. It was a weekend, after all.

(BTW: I hate been-counting revenue managers. I have had to deal with them for over twenty years booking rooms for our annual travel adventure event—20 rooms here, 50 rooms there. Guesstimating, we've probably booked over 3,500 room nights at some of the world’s best hotels. And this was not one of those. Yet, I can always count on these singularly focused bean counters to be foolishly consistent, like anti-tax Republicans and Catholic priests. Like them, the aforementioned, as well, are the bane of my usually tranquil existence.)

I reiterated to Tonis that I would enjoy staying two additional nights, but only if they honored our previously agreed rate. Otherwise, I’d walk. Hotels hate it when a guest walks, and I thought it was a reasonable request.

But no, he wouldn't agree. So let the negotiations begin…

Now I learned how to negotiate with one of the best. A man named Neil Breton (d. 2021), a young, dynamic Beverly Hills-based serial entrepreneur I worked for in the late 80s and early 90s. Neil taught many things, among them that everything was negotiable. And he proved it, often. A street-smart graduate degree in business acumen. Neil taught me the art of the deal: realizing the possible and getting to yes. But from Neil's point of view, it was always about wanting more. More has never been my goal. I am pretty happy with enough, thank you. Although my wife may not be 100% all-in on that personal philosophy, and most definitely, my teenage son is not down with our lifestyle choice. Whatever. In this specific case, less was my goal. Paying less. Now I'm not saying I usually get everything I want. Still, you shouldn't play Monopoly with me. I know my family won't!

What it eventually came down to, was figuring our clever possible pathway to solve our problem, without walking out the door in a lose-lose outcome. Persistence and creativity.

Firstly, I offered that they would not have to clean my ultra-mod high-tech room. Odd, you might think, but it is not a fixed cost (time, labor, laundry, and all those little bottles of L'Occitane bath gel, etc.). The revenue manager should have loved this approach—room revenue without additional costs. He did not!

Next, I offered not to take breakfast. Over the years, this ploy usually works miracles getting substantially lower room rates. Another non-fixed cost. Nyet!

Then I appealed to Tonis and Yol's sense of generating a happy customer. So I pulled out my pen and drew a happy face on paper. Then X'ed it out, noodling a non-smiley sad face. Admittedly, I am no da Vinci or Degas, and they seemed to agree. My appeal to their better angels did not hit the mark I had hoped. I maybe should have rather resorted to threats, bribery and extortion. They always worked on my kids.

A check-in line was forming behind me as I monopolize the front desk staff.

Then, I flippantly pointed to the comfortable hotel bar, telling them I would no doubt patronize it, often. Perhaps even bring in some new clientele, too! With raised eyebrows, incredulously so, they shook their heads no.

I joked about making a small contribution to their meager-looking lobby library, having just finished Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. But, frankly, I’d just be happy to get it out of my carry-on. I knew it wasn’t a winning suggestion, I was just working for time.

By now, a crowd had gathered near the rather artsy-looking front desk. Was it really endangered Brazilian hardwood? And along with front desk gal Yol and Tonis, the day manager—by the way, she was much friendly than he—a bellman, a valet, and an antsy wannabe patron stood close by.

Groping, I pulled out my business card—Yes, I have them. But they are limited editions, so please don’t ask for one!—insinuating maybe, slightly perhaps, I might use their excellent property for our event, conceivably booking 20+ room nights on consecutive nights next spring. I was sure the prospect of new business would change their minds and certainly appeal to the still-hiding revenue manager base needs. It did not.

My mind spun, stuck in extended search mode, scanning my experience archives. In the past, I have dealt with business folks worldwide: the arrogant Chinese, rupiah-pinching Indians, happy-for-the-business Africans, hard-nosed Germans, and slightly shady Middle Easterners. Eureka! Play the national character card (aka stereotypes), I thought. That’s the way to possible.

So, being a hot-blooded Latin-adjacent country, I appealed to their vanities, ego and machismo. And clearly grasping at straws now, I suggested they quickly Google me.*

As Tonis and Yol scanned their computer, eyebrows raised, and then they gave each other quizzical looks. Maybe they saw that I Like Porn piece I wrote? I dunno. (BTW: It was about my love of real estate porn!) Sensing an in, I quickly inferred that I might write something positive about their tony hipster property. Tonis said, "So, you are a writer?" "Sometimes," I not so sheepishly acknowledged.

Tonis asked me to wait again, and quickly ducked into the super secret cone of silence-like backroom. Yol smiled at me, differently now.

Now I'm sure other managers were involved besides the day manager and weasel-like revenue manager. Hotels have innumerable managers, I have learned. Maybe the hotel general manager himself, the food and beverage manager, the marketing manager, and perhaps even the chef (aka culinary manager). And when Tonis emerged, he was now all smiles—and not of the aforementioned pursed-lipped kind.

Not only did Tonis profusely apologize, but he actually offered me a rate far better than the one previously negotiated. It would be an honor having me, handing me his card, saying if there was anything he could do to make my stay more pleasant, please don't hesitate to ask.

Finally, happily, albeit 15 minutes later, we had struck a deal. The revenue manager…all the managers were apparently assuaged. We shook hands. I quickly pumped some hand sanitizer as Yol checked me in.

I got my room. I got to eat a couple yummy breakfasts, and I got my comfortably stylish room cleaned, too. Nothing like extra Belgian chocolates! However, I did not patronize the elegant bar, preferring the more locally-inhabited one across the street. Better atmosphere, although the clientele was a tad sketchy. Some would say colorful. And while I will not write a bad review or comment negatively on the up-‘n’-coming hotel’s multiple social media pages, nor will I recommend it. And no, our event travelers will not be staying here.

And so, dear reader, I am now honoring my tacit agreement to write something positive about them. Just look at all the positive adjectives I have used to describe the place! And this is it: I stayed two nights at a chic boutique hotel in a city I won't name. But I had a pleasant stay, and my large room was lovely. Thank you, Tonis. And Yol, you’re the best.

My end of the bargain has now been honored. A promise made and debt paid. Next…

*Yep, the old passive-aggresive: Don’y you know who I am, shitheads, line. But please know I didn’t say that and went about it in a rather nice backhanded kinda way! Because as we all know, I am a certified nobody. But, still, it worked!

Thanks for the privilege of your time, it is the most precious thing we have, and I appreciate it. Be well.

William D. Chalmers © 2022 GreatEscape Adventures, Inc. All Rights Reserved.