The Aggravated Gambler - by Melissa Cook & Jeffrey Compton

Two Sides of the Coin

While I almost always have something to get aggravated over, this month was a bit different. Recently, my esteemed colleague, Strictly Slots Slot Club Editor Jeffrey Compton, and I traveled to Atlantic City on business. I chose the hotel. Jeffrey will tell you he let me choose, because he's so "agreeable." But I think he knows what kind of fit I can throw if I don't get my way. Our rooms were literally next door to one another. I thought I chose wisely. My experience was wonderful, from start to finish. His, on the other hand... Well, I'll let him tell you...

I'm not fond of complainers, I usually write them off as being hard to please or the type who are just happy being unhappy. That is until last month, when I found myself on the complaining end of the argument.

"We'll stay here," says Moe (that's what her friends call her), without a second thought. "They have twinkle lights!"

I'm intentionally leaving out the hotel's name. Moe likes the place and besides, what happened to me could (unfortun-ately) happen at almost any hotel.

So, on a wet and chilly Sunday night, after a nice but long National Airlines flight and an hour-long car ride from Philadelphia, we arrive at the hotel. Moe and I get our respective rooms and say good night, both looking forward to a bath, a room-service meal and sleep. I have to interject here. I was especially looking forward to room service. I was tired and ready for comfort food.

I was so pleased when I entered my room. It was immaculate. Cheerfully decorated. The temperature was perfect. The bed looked so inviting. And the room service menu was right there waiting for me.

As for the twinkle lights... okay, I admit it, I'm a kid at heart. I like pretty twinkle lights.My dream vanished when I opened the door to my room and saw something reminiscent of Animal House. The room had not only been totally missed by the maid, but the former occupants had ransacked it in their quest for sheets and towels. I struggled to the phone (located under a tipped over mattress) and called the front desk.

"I'm sorry sir, but the hotel is completely booked," said the clerk. "We cannot move you to another room."

Welcome to summer at the Jersey Shore!

The clerk connected me to housekeeping. The phone rang and rang before someone finally answered. After explaining my situation several times, the lady said haltingly (I don't think English was her first language), "We will send someone up soon."

An hour and a half later, I called again and was told in the same slow voice, "a supervisor is on her way."

By this time, I'm famished, so I head downstairs for a meal. By this time, I was unpacked. A knock on the door brought a delicious assortment of crab claws and fresh fruit. I settled in for some munchies and channel surfing on the television.

On the way to the restaurant, I saw a "housekeeping supervisor" going into another room. She assured me that mine was also on the list.

The next surprise came at the coffee shop-there was an hour-long line. Now, I realize that this is summer at the shore, but there's never an hour-long coffee shop line at 10 PM on Sunday night in Las Vegas (where, I might add, I usually have a comp and a line pass anyway. But hey, there are twinkle lights here). When I finally reached the front of the line, the hostess announced that there had been spaces at the counter the entire time.

I ordered my meal, which was okay (on that day, "okay" was the best rating anyone was going to get).

My crab claws were delicious.

Then I got my check: $45. Yes, I had an appetizer, steak, dessert and a glass of questionable wine, but $45 in a coffee shop! Not where I come from.

At least I could go back to my cleaned up room for a nice night's sleep, right?

Wrong.

The room was not cleaned up. In fact, during my two-hour dinner break, it had been totally ignored. This was war! I called the operator and asked for the person in charge.

I called the automated wake-up service and punched in a civil morning hour. Then I cuddled up with my extra pillows and fell asleep to the Discovery channel.

"Mr. Rollins is the front desk manager," I was informed. "Please connect me!"

It rang and rang and rang and then I got a recording. It's midnight, I'm tired, and I'm not interested in Mr. Rollins' recorded voice. So, armed with a business card, I stormed downstairs to the front desk and stood there until Mr. Rollins appeared.

"Sir," I said through clenched teeth, "I am Jeffery Compton. I write for several magazines and newspapers and if someone does not clean my room in the next few minutes, my readers will all have an amusing article to read-and I will name names." Believe me, this is one of the few times I have ever introduced myself as a threat.

By some miracle, there was someone cleaning my room by the time I got back, and they did a decent job considering the circumstances and my mood. After the maid left, I unpacked my bag-only to discover that besides the sheets and towels, the last guests also took all the hangers-even the ones without hooks!

So I went to bed-except that I was so strung up, I decided to watch TV for a while. After you subtract all the pay-per-view TV channels, the three channels advertising the pay-per-view channels, the two channels advertising the hotel, and the channel used for checking out, there were eight stations-and none of them had a thing I wanted to see.

I turned out the light and dozed off.

The next morning, I slept in through nine. My meeting did not begin till 10, and I was still recovering from jet lag and the events of the night before.

"Oh well," I thought cheerfully, "today is the first day of the rest of my life and I will start with a nice room-service breakfast that should be here after my shower."

Wrong!

"I'm sorry sir, but we cannot deliver room service for at least an hour."

My wake-up call came right on time: 8:30 AM. I rolled over and stretched, surprised at how refreshed I felt. Before my eyes were entirely open, I dialed room service. Coffee, please. And blueberry muffins.

Fifteen minutes later I was pouring cream into a steaming cup of coffee, and munching on my muffins. Such big blueberries! We don't see too many of those in the desert! And they delivered the morning paper and a carnation in a vase. This one was pink. The night before, it was red. I set it next to the other on the dresser, and decided I'd have a bouquet of them before my stay was over.

By the time I showered, dressed and got downstairs, I only had time for a fast-food breakfast. Unfortunately, at this hotel, my only early quick meal choice was in the lounge, where the property serves the inmates very strong coffee (plus no milk, only liquid whitener) and a roll hard enough to make an excellent weapon (of which I was certain I could make good use).

After a few bites of coffee, I saw Moe, who was glowing more than usual.

"And how was your night," I asked. "

Oh, it was just wonderful Jeffrey. I had a nice dinner in my room, watched TV, fell asleep and woke up to a wonderful breakfast. And besides, don't you just love the twinkle lights?"

He's exaggerating. I never mentioned the damn twinkle lights.

Maybe I'm just happy being unhappy.

Maybe, but I don't think so. That's not Jeffrey's style.

The fact is, what could possibly explain two people having such completely different experiences at the same hotel on the same night?

Simple. Inconsistent service issues.

Now, what are the implications? Let's suppose Jeffrey and I didn't know each other from Adam. As far as I'm concerned, I'm going to go off and tell my friends what a great stay I had, and how well I was treated.

But Jeffrey will tell anyone within earshot that they should never, under any circumstances, visit that property. And believe me, his bad word of mouth will go a lot farther than my words of praise. People remember the bad stuff.

The bottom line is that there is no excuse for such polar experiences. This is a managerial issue on all fronts. Somewhere along the line, the employees in all the departments are not being given the guidance and training they need. There's no propertywide cohesion. Your experience will depend on a throw of the dice, and I don't mean craps.

Twinkle lights or not, knowing Jeffrey, I'd hesitate before recommending the property to friends. Customer service is obviously not high on their priority list. And that, regardless of my personal experiences, puts them pretty low on mine.

So, what's the moral of the story? Ask more than one person their opinion of a place before you visit. Find out if they are consistent. Call the property and pose general questions to different departments, such as directions from the bell desk, slot club information from the booth, and room descriptions from a front desk clerk prior to booking your trip. Listen to the responses. Are they all happy to help? Are they all knowledgeable?

If the answer is no, look elsewhere. The service you receive for your money is one thing you never want to gamble.

E-mail "The Aggravated Gambler" at mcook@casinocenter.com. Fax to (702) 736-8889. Or mail to: Strictly Slots, c/o The Aggravated Gambler, 5240 S. Eastern Ave., Las Vegas, NV 89119. Be sure to include a phone number where you can be reached.