Reply to: Survival in British Hotels

[Sysman]

Tell them your business is people smuggling, forced prostitution, and extortion. That usually shuts them up.

[NickFitz]

Good one. The English variation of the US theme comes with the small family run B&B where the owners latch on to the fact that you are running your own business and want to regale you with tales of their own business, exorbitant bank charges and all the rest. It can get a bit much.

Tell them your business is people smuggling, forced prostitution, and extortion. That usually shuts them up.

[Sysman]

What is it with this obession with "Service", particularly in this country (UK) ?

We somehow hold up the USA as a paragon of customer service, yet in my experience of USA hotels, the service borders on the sociopathic.

<snip>

*****

In an English hotel, of the traditional "don't give a flying fig variety", you can walk in, cough to make your presence known, get a key and slope off to your room for the next 2 days.

No one will bother you. No one will pester you. If you put the "Do not Disturb" sign on the door, then it will take about 12 days before anyone gets suspicious and wonders if you have died in a drug-fuelled haze.

When you check out, you pay and go, and that's it.

Good one. The English variation of the US theme comes with the small family run B&B where the owners latch on to the fact that you are running your own business and want to regale you with tales of their own business, exorbitant bank charges and all the rest. It can get a bit much.

[NickFitz]

In an English hotel, of the traditional "don't give a flying fig variety", you can walk in, cough to make your presence known, get a key and slope off to your room for the next 2 days.

When I was at the Grand in Brighton recently a concierge grabbed my bags as soon as I walked in, asked my name, made small talk while we waited for a receptionist to become free, carried my bags to my room while telling me what a good room it was (which was true), accepted his tip, and left, calling me by name again as he wished me a pleasant stay.

Two minutes later I went downstairs and asked the same chap if I could put my car in the hotel garage. The first thing he asked me was my name and room number

[cojak]

What is it with this obession with "Service", particularly in this country (UK) ?

We somehow hold up the USA as a paragon of customer service, yet in my experience of USA hotels, the service borders on the sociopathic.

Mere seconds after crossing in to the lobby, do you get accosted by some happy-clappy person, wearing a badge that says "I'm Steve ! I'm here to help!".

Steve then regales you with the facilities on offer, asks about your trip, mentions the weather, offers advice on what's happening in the local area, and yet still you are desperately trying to get to the check-in desk.

Once there, you meet Steve's counterpart, Maria, who flashes more teeth than a racehorse, and proceeds to go through the same conversation again.
She asks you a million and one questions about wanting breakfast, lunch, dinner, whilst Carlos, the demented Hispanic bell-boy is frantically trying to grab your luggage and carry it up to your room.

On arrival at the room, Carlos waxes lyrically about the fantastic features this opulent shoe box contains, such as bed, toilet and 60" plasma TV with full satellite access, Pay2View Movies, and remote control.

Carlos then stands there looking at you.

You stand there looking at Carlos.

Carlos looks uneasy.

You look uneasy.

Carlos makes a small movement towards the door. "I...er...must go".

"No", you reply, in a faltering voice, half blocking his escape.

There is a sudden silence between you both, pregnant with expectation and unrequited love.

Then suddenly, the near-miss homoerotic experience is over before it started, and you skip straight to the payment stage, having missed out on the meat and drink of the action itself. Then again, Carlos is no Antonio Banderas. More Manuel from Fawlty Towers.

He takes the note, always with a downward glance, as if the transaction is somehow sordid and dirty, and he leaves your room, with you standing there feeling soiled and guilty.

Then just as your aching limbs alight upon the bed, a shrill sound can be heard from the bedside table. The room phone is ringing.

Your heart jumps. How on earth could they have traced you here, so quickly ? You're blood pressure launches in to orbit and you warily pick up the receiver.

It's Maria.

There is a note of panic in her voice.

She wants to know if your room is ok, and did Carlos show you around ?

You begin to formulate the theory that Carlos and Maria are more than just employees of Happy Mates Hotels, and her jealousy is rearing its ugly head.

She continues to ask you what time you want breakfast, where you want it, in the restaurant, in your bed, in the frigging hallway or in the lift, and when you finally relent and give her the answer she requires, she says thank you and hangs up.

This is just a taster of what occurs for the next 2 days, in Room 101 (aptly chosen).

By the time you check out, you have been asked if you enjoyed your stay a staggering total of 141 times, you have been asked if you would like to book a table in the hotel's own, exclusive brasserie 49 times, you have received 23 phone calls from Maria, asking you about breakfast, and if you have seen Carlos anywhere, and you will have been asked 9 times if you had anything from the room mini-bar, even though you filled in the A5 mini-bar inventory list that sits on top of the fricking mini-bar and which the maid checks every day.

You will also have heard the immortal phrase "Have a nice day", 17 times.
*****

In an English hotel, of the traditional "don't give a flying fig variety", you can walk in, cough to make your presence known, get a key and slope off to your room for the next 2 days.

No one will bother you. No one will pester you. If you put the "Do not Disturb" sign on the door, then it will take about 12 days before anyone gets suspicious and wonders if you have died in a drug-fuelled haze.

When you check out, you pay and go, and that's it.

Definitely with BGG on this - I hate this smile-and-tip culture, the Marriott that I've just been in frowns on that kind of thing.

Give me faceless hotel any day.

[Board Game Geek]

What is it with this obession with "Service", particularly in this country (UK) ?

We somehow hold up the USA as a paragon of customer service, yet in my experience of USA hotels, the service borders on the sociopathic.

Mere seconds after crossing in to the lobby, do you get accosted by some happy-clappy person, wearing a badge that says "I'm Steve ! I'm here to help!".

Steve then regales you with the facilities on offer, asks about your trip, mentions the weather, offers advice on what's happening in the local area, and yet still you are desperately trying to get to the check-in desk.

Once there, you meet Steve's counterpart, Maria, who flashes more teeth than a racehorse, and proceeds to go through the same conversation again.
She asks you a million and one questions about wanting breakfast, lunch, dinner, whilst Carlos, the demented Hispanic bell-boy is frantically trying to grab your luggage and carry it up to your room.

On arrival at the room, Carlos waxes lyrically about the fantastic features this opulent shoe box contains, such as bed, toilet and 60" plasma TV with full satellite access, Pay2View Movies, and remote control.

Carlos then stands there looking at you.

You stand there looking at Carlos.

Carlos looks uneasy.

You look uneasy.

Carlos makes a small movement towards the door. "I...er...must go".

"No", you reply, in a faltering voice, half blocking his escape.

There is a sudden silence between you both, pregnant with expectation and unrequited love.

Then suddenly, the near-miss homoerotic experience is over before it started, and you skip straight to the payment stage, having missed out on the meat and drink of the action itself. Then again, Carlos is no Antonio Banderas. More Manuel from Fawlty Towers.

He takes the note, always with a downward glance, as if the transaction is somehow sordid and dirty, and he leaves your room, with you standing there feeling soiled and guilty.

Then just as your aching limbs alight upon the bed, a shrill sound can be heard from the bedside table. The room phone is ringing.

Your heart jumps. How on earth could they have traced you here, so quickly ? You're blood pressure launches in to orbit and you warily pick up the receiver.

It's Maria.

There is a note of panic in her voice.

She wants to know if your room is ok, and did Carlos show you around ?

You begin to formulate the theory that Carlos and Maria are more than just employees of Happy Mates Hotels, and her jealousy is rearing its ugly head.

She continues to ask you what time you want breakfast, where you want it, in the restaurant, in your bed, in the frigging hallway or in the lift, and when you finally relent and give her the answer she requires, she says thank you and hangs up.

This is just a taster of what occurs for the next 2 days, in Room 101 (aptly chosen).

By the time you check out, you have been asked if you enjoyed your stay a staggering total of 141 times, you have been asked if you would like to book a table in the hotel's own, exclusive brasserie 49 times, you have received 23 phone calls from Maria, asking you about breakfast, and if you have seen Carlos anywhere, and you will have been asked 9 times if you had anything from the room mini-bar, even though you filled in the A5 mini-bar inventory list that sits on top of the fricking mini-bar and which the maid checks every day.

You will also have heard the immortal phrase "Have a nice day", 17 times.
*****

In an English hotel, of the traditional "don't give a flying fig variety", you can walk in, cough to make your presence known, get a key and slope off to your room for the next 2 days.

No one will bother you. No one will pester you. If you put the "Do not Disturb" sign on the door, then it will take about 12 days before anyone gets suspicious and wonders if you have died in a drug-fuelled haze.

When you check out, you pay and go, and that's it.

[SizeZero]

Any other suggestions?

A pot noodle.

Just in case the restaurant is closed.

[Bagpuss]

Quality does not seem to be directly linked to price and in fact a couple of the best hotels I have stayed in have been private ones with en-suite, very clean, newly decorated, free WiFi and English breakfast for around £20. On the other hand I have ended up in hotels run by chains and I paid £80 to £150 for shabby rooms, damp walls, faulty showers and curtains falling off the rails.

My overnight survival kit contains:
A mini fan heater (British hotels tend to be mean with the heating)
Radiator key. (It seems that hoteliers don’t know how to bleed radiators.)
Mini WD40. (For making the shower taps work properly)
Digital TV USB stick and a long cable to connect to the aerial socket.
Leatherman multi-tool.
Mini flashlight.

Any other suggestions?

Strange collection of kit. However totally agree that the old saying of you get what you pay for is not true with hotels. One of the best I have stayed in costs £40 a night with breakfast, wi fi and a gym. One of the worst cost £140 a night.

[TheFaQQer]

Actually, whilst we're on... anyone got any good Blackpool Hotel recommendations?

Try looking in Lytham instead - not too far away, but clear of the scum.

I think I stayed at The Grand - it gets good reviews on TripAdvisor.

[NotAllThere]

Or is it rsingh?

[Dong]

I see no evidence of service culture in britan, no room service - none of the hotels have boys anymore like they do in most of asia.

Isn't this singhr's dad?

[Clarky]

No, why on earth would I want to go to Sunderland? I bet by the standards of the town, my statement on relative quality of TL to other hotels is still true

Careful, you'll have SallyAnne on to you...!

Then again, I used to work there, more fool me...! To be fair though, it was my leaving do and the guys treated me to a night in Sunderland. They must have really liked me!

[hyperD]

A fake dog poo to put between the sheets for the cleaners the next day.

Always makes 'em smile.

[shashee]

I see no evidence of service culture in britan, no room service - none of the hotels have boys anymore like they do in most of asia.

[HairyArsedBloke]

Pocket lint.