Room for Better Service

I enjoy going out for breakfast when I travel, especially if I am hungry for huevos rancheros in the Southwest or sourdough French toast in San Francisco. Hot dishes, especially with runny salsa or syrup, are worth the dressing.

But if I am expecting phone calls or reading notes for an interview or want to sip my coffee in private, I like room service. Good room service, that is.

I have this bullish notion that hotels should not offer room service unless they expect to deliver. It offends me to find a handsomely printed menu perched on the room TV, and, when I call to order, be interrupted with: “That’ll be an hour.”

This is why I like the breakfast menu cards you hang on the doorknob before you retire. They generally work.

Choosing Your Time

The most swift and tasty room service that I experienced recently was at the J. W. Marriott hotel in Washington. Their card lets you choose your breakfast time in 15-minute intervals between 6 a.m. and 10 a.m.

And their promise: “Guaranteed on time or it’s on us.” If you check the box marked 7:30 to 7:45 a.m., and they don’t wheel up until 7:47, you don’t pay. That happened to a friend of mine down the hall. No charge, no fuss, no tip accepted. Just a smile.

There were a lot of smiles at the Marriott, starting with the dazzling one from Tom Scates, the 6-foot 10-inch doorman who used to play basketball at Georgetown University. When he opens a taxi door and, from on high, booms “Welcome,” it’s like arriving at the pearly gates.

My room was No. 368. It had no view, really, yet it was remarkable.

Callers on the telephone could easily be heard by everyone in the room. There were no secrets.

What Throne Means

The toilet was on a wide pedestal, giving rise to the term throne. Armrests of metal curved on both sides. Steel bars flanked the bathtub and lavatory.

I asked a friend if she had heavy metal in her room. She said no.

I asked the desk clerk if Room 368 were equipped for disabled travelers. Yes, she said, the hotel has eight such rooms--the 68 series on each floor.

That is admirable, of course, but it bothered me. I felt as if I had parked illegally in a handicapped zone.

She assured me that the hotel was full, but they would juggle rooms if the need arose.

The thought of breaking the law reminded me of a favorite curbside sign on 3rd Avenue in Manhattan:

“No Waiting

No Stopping

No Parking

NO KIDDING!”