Construction? What Construction? A Case Study for Hotels.

Because hotels run on the promise of comfort and rest, an onsite construction project can be particularly challenging to manage. Rather than risk sending guests fleeing to competitors, hotels often choose to keep silent about construction activity, hoping guests won’t notice the jack-hammering in the lobby. If a guest complains, management feigns shock and dismay, as though a crew marched in uninvited and began tearing down walls. Complaints are handled in the only way hotels know how: by buying the guest’s silence. If the guest is mildly irritated, he might get a brusque apology and a free local call. Pissed off? A whopping 15% off last night’s room charge, perhaps with continental breakfast thrown in—accompanied by the roar of bulldozers. Apoplectic? An escort off property by security.

Having suffered both sides—as a hotel manager, a massive construction project next door and, as a hotel guest, drilling as excruciating as a root canal—I’ve learned that hotels will better protect long- and short-term interests not by treating construction like an unspeakable secret but by being open and communicative with guests. It’s a frightening proposition, but it works.

I’ll never forget that day in 2005 when a group of super-friendly people came to Opus Hotel to tell me about plans to build an underground rapid transit station in our neighbourhood, a three-year project that would create an excavation the size of a football field directly outside our door. As the hotel’s general manager I did what any great leader would do: I locked myself in my office and had a good cry. Then I went online to look for a new job.

In the following months, my colleagues and I tried to figure out how to maintain our high occupancy and guest satisfaction ratings while under siege. An employee suggested a radical approach: we tell guests the truth. The idea was immediately dismissed as preposterous, a break from the hotel industry’s illustrious tradition of lies, deceit and blame-deflection when it comes to construction. Yet the idea fit in with our organizational values of integrity and respect, and no one came up with a better solution, so we decided to give it a whirl. From that point forward, we were completely transparent about construction, warning guests in advance and keeping them informed while on property.

It was a nail-biting risk. We were giving prospective guests a reason to stay elsewhere and providing our competitors a weapon to use against us. Many of our rooms didn’t face the construction site, and activity was sporadic—why alarm all guests when only a few would be disturbed? Transparency threatened only to exacerbate the problem.

Yet to avoid the issue can be far more damaging. While a guest of a hotel in Atlanta, I endured drilling next door for three days before I called to complain. I was transferred to the duty manager’s line, and I left a message, but I didn’t hear back. The next day a gift basket was delivered to my room. There was no note or card, so I had no idea who it came from, but it did come with a jar of tasty Georgian peach salsa. Meanwhile, the drilling turned to jack-hammering. I left another message for the manager, this time requesting to change rooms. Again, no call back. That night, another gift arrived, a slab of chocolate that vaguely resembled the hotel’s logo. It had melted—much like my resolve. I checked out the next day and, as much as I enjoyed the peach salsa, I won’t be staying there again.

In my experience, hotel guests are more understanding—and surprisingly accepting—when communication is proactive and sincere. To avoid unpleasant surprises, hotels should communicate construction activity at the time of reservation and place a notice on the website, in confirmation letters, and in group, corporate and event contracts. Most travelers are up and out early and won’t be daunted. Rooms closest to construction should be placed out of order or sold at a discount; many travelers will be willing to risk a disturbance if it means getting a great deal. Keep guests informed by placing a letter in guestrooms from the general manager explaining the nature of the work, the benefits, and the duration, and inviting guests to contact the front desk if they have concerns. Equipping rooms with earplugs and white noise machines will show that you’re trying, but will do little to drown out construction noise.

Being transparent doesn’t mean being alarmist. Sales and reservations staff should avoid comments like, “OMG it’s like a total mess here!” A simple, positive statement will do, such as, “Just so you’re aware, we’re currently upgrading our banquet facilities and you may encounter construction activity.” Do everything possible to address concerns—including, if necessary, letting the business walk. In the long run, your hotel will be better off. Hell hath no fury like a meeting planner not forewarned, and a scathing review on TripAdvisor will scare travelers off long after construction is finished. With larger construction projects you won’t be able to please everyone, so reserve the quietest rooms for your most desirable clientele. Be creative about how you respond to complaints; not everyone is looking for a freebie. Offer sincere apologies, ask how you can make it up to the guest, and respond accordingly.

Resist the temptation to be cute, like posting signs with cartoon characters in hardhats. If a guest is awoken by a dump truck unloading gravel outside her window, she won’t be amused. Years ago, at a hotel in Toronto, management decided to make light of lobby renovations by dressing up two front desk employees per shift as construction workers. Upon reporting for duty one day I was handed a hardhat and an orange vest. “I don’t think so,” I said, handing them back—the hotel’s polyester uniform was humiliating enough. I was overruled. To my surprise, I found myself enjoying the construction worker role-play thing—until I had to deal with an irate guest. Partway through his rant, he stopped, blinked, and said, “What the hell are you wearing?” The hats and vests were discontinued shortly thereafter.

Our strategy at Opus wasn’t perfect. We lost our share of business, and a number of guests fell through the cracks. Yet by being transparent we built a relationship of trust with our clientele, and our guest satisfaction ratings and occupancy remained high throughout. All hotels experience construction at some point—it’s a necessity of keeping fresh and up-to-date—and many fall victim to offsite construction from which they reap no benefits. If your hotel provides an otherwise exceptional and unrivaled experience, your guests will be far more loyal and forgiving than you might expect.

These days, while many hotels are sitting half-empty, the time is ripe for capital upgrades and renovations. Unfortunately for most hotels, upgrades will have to wait until business is stronger—which means undergoing construction while occupancy is high. All the more reason to have in place a solid guest communication plan in place.

Trevor buys a bed-and-breakfast – Is it haunted?

My latest novel is now out, and since it’s set in a bed-and-breakfast I thought it fitting to write a post on that subject.

First, a few words about Murder at Graverly Manor. In this third—and last—installment of the Five-Star Mystery series, hotelier Trevor Lambert returns to his hometown of Vancouver to recoup after suffering the trauma and drama of opening Hotel Cinema in Hollywood. When he happens upon an elegant Victorian mansion for sale in the city’s West End, he decides it’s time to pursue his dream of operating a bed-and-breakfast. But the eccentric proprietress, Lady Graverly, won’t sell until he completes a one-month trial period as innkeeper. Trevor quickly discovers that operating a B&B is far more challenging than he anticipated, and his troubles are exacerbated by vanishing residents, screams in the night, and Lady Graverly’s refusal to let him see her private quarters. When things start to go really haywire, former colleague Shanna Virani flies in from LA to help out. As the two hoteliers uncover the manor’s dark secrets, they discover that its past is inextricably linked to Trevor’s destiny.

In researching this novel I learned to appreciate the unique offerings of this often-overlooked lodging segment. Bed-and-breakfasts provide an authentic, grassroots cultural experience, and as such are popular with foreign tourists. They’re cheaper than hotels, partly because they offer fewer amenities, and are more intimate, offering personal touches, décor and in-room amenities that reflect the city they’re in. There are no cavernous lobbies, no revolving doors and no conventioneers. In a B&B you’re likely to interact with other occupants as well as with the owners. And, of course, breakfast is included.

Being a private person and somewhat antisocial, I prefer the anonymity of hotels, where constant shift changes ensure that no one can keep tabs on my comings and goings. Hotel guests are busy and blessedly standoffish, and interactions are just how I like them: rare and superficial. Call me a curmudgeon, but I’m rarely interested in chatting with strangers, particularly before I’ve had a good strong cup of coffee. I do enough of that at work, where I’m paid for it. On airplanes, after a polite hello to my seatmates, I yank down imaginary shades on either side of me emblazoned with an upright middle finger, and then bury my nose in a book. I’m more open to social interaction in the evening, particularly with a glass of wine in hand, so the B&B ritual of guests congregating at cocktail hour is more appealing. Furthermore, in B&Bs the walls tend to be thin, the plumbing more resonant, which discourages loud music, headboard-slamming sex and off-tune shower singing, and alerts the entire household when you’re taking a pee.

A few years ago, on a trip to New York I stayed at the Inn at Irving Place, twelve rooms housed in two 1834 buildings in Gramercy Park. Its antique furniture, ornaments, and fabrics in every conceivable floral pattern made me feel like I was staying at someone’s grandma’s house. I lived in constant fear of breaking something. The manager’s desk was located at the foot of the staircase, and he was super-friendly and seemingly omnipresent. To evade the obligatory chitchat I contemplated scaling the fire escape, but feared I would cause a racket and get caught. Instead I would hunker down in my room, listening for the opportune time to bolt for the door without being accosted. The service was exceptional, the rooms charming, but on my return visit I booked the 185-room Gramercy Park Hotel. I like shiny new things.

I’m more inclined to appreciate a B&B while on vacation, when I’m less uptight, more sociable, and less prone to fits of quiet rage when service is slow. One of my best experiences was at a B&B just outside of Buenos Aires called Ave Maria. The food was homey and delicious, the rooms rustic and airy, and I could escape loquacious guests by hopping on a horse and galloping across acres of Argentine pampas.

Graverly Manor is a B&B’s worse-case scenario, and isn’t meant to represent the typical experience. For example, most B&Bs don’t come with a dead body in the cellar. Though I do recall a story way back about a German guest of a Miami Springs hotel complaining at checkout about an unpleasant odor in his room. The source turned out to be a dead body under the bed.

Like Trevor, people are often seduced by a false romantic notion of operating a bed-and-breakfast. They love hosting out-of-town guests, and reason that running a B&B should be a simple matter of a few extra place settings at the breakfast table. They soon discover that paying strangers aren’t as neat or respectful as friends and relatives (as a rule), and the work can be frenetic and unrelenting. Yet the proprietors who get it right, like my friends at the West End Guest House, provide an intimate, comfortable and economical option that is simply unrivaled by hotels.

On a personal note, on Monday I’m leaving for a six-month sojourn in Europe. Aside from loafing around and bastardizing languages, I’ll be working on my next book. I’ll keep the subject a mystery for now, but I will divulge one clue: it’s not a mystery. While there, I’ll be checking out all sorts of hotels and reporting in. But, given that I’m on a sabbatical from my hotel career this year, my champagne tastes will have to be put on ice for a while. I’ll be staying in B&Bs.