I have been to four conventions in my life, but that was plenty. The first two were for two different organizations, but they were both at the same sprawling convention 'resort.' If you went to the business center part of the complex, but realized you forgot something in your room, it would mean ten minutes of trekking back across the grounds, serpentining past the rose garden, cutting through the play lot, circumnavigating one of the pools, waiting for an elevator, and then going back down the elevator, around the pool, through the play lot and all the screaming kids with no supervision, dodging bees in the rose garden, and back up the stairs, sweaty and uncomfortable, to an uncomfortable seat in back of the cavernous ballroom for an inspirational motivational speech by an ex-army officer who uses military training tactics to supposedly inspire businesspeople to care more about their data integrity in their databases. Maybe it doesn't sound like a big deal, but the meandering pathways are designed specifically to create a feeling of leisure and time wasting, as they take the longest route possible. Never make a straight path, where a twisty one will do, I guess.
If you haven't been before, then you don't realize how isolating these convention palaces can be. Most conventioneers do not have rental cars, so there is no way to get anywhere without calling for expensive taxis three times a day. That means all meals have to be eaten on the premises. And the hotel knows that.
Where I just was, at the appropriately named Gaylord Resort in Orlando, we ate at Sammy's Seafood (yes, really), where entrees were in the $20-$30 range. We can eat cheaper back in Chicago. Especially at a place called Sammy's Seafood.
Plus, this was at the less expensive restaurant. At the steakhouse (of course), entrees went up into the $40s. And, believe me, Everest and Ambria, this was not. That is, unless Everest and Ambria have redecorated, so that they are now housed in a faux shack on stilts above a cloud of fake mist, fog, a pond of koi, and turtles, and next to a display area of live alligators. I bet the food is fantastic.
The hotel owners aren't stupid. They know their guests are virtual prisoners with expense accounts. It makes perfect sense.
Not to the guests. Sit in the hot tub with any of the parents, whose kids slide down the tentacles of the octopus, and the conversation inevitably turns to the isolation, the expense, the discovery of a pizza chain that will deliver to the hotel. Parents hopefully ask if you've been off the property, and maybe seen a grocery store nearby.
'Even a 7-11? No? Are you sure?'
One unlucky couple I spoke with had made the drastic decision to actually bring food back from the theme parks. That's right. The same food, that is notoriously overpriced ($2.75 for a bottle of water at Sea World), had become this family's economical dining solution.
Even the $4 scoop of ice cream I had been getting at the hotel each night was beaten by the price of the scoop (larger) at Sea World, and that included a choice of topping.
As a rule, however, I am not against bringing your own snacks to theme parks. The choices are so limited—and so pricey. At Epcot, I carted around snacks and waters in a big, heavy bag. Was the aggravation worth the savings? Maybe not, but I was glad that I filled up on cut-up vegetables and wasabi peas, rather than fried funnel cakes, which were sold outside the American Pavilion, along with turkey legs and hot dogs, as the best our country has to offer.
I did buy dinner, a rather mushy sushi roll at the Japanese Pavilion, which was a bit overpriced at just under $7. Better than the sit-down places where prices are jacked way up. Still, they're no more (probably less) than at the conventioneer hotel.
When I went to a regional conference in Urbana, Ill., a few years ago, we stayed at Jumer's, the local Bavarian lodge. Sure, why not? Thankfully, it is attached to a rather depressing mall, which, nevertheless, offered a couple of dining options outside of the formal, heavy-wood, big-chaired, animal-head-studded dining room. Did I want to eat at the faux '50s diner or at the same Chinese restaurant I'd eaten at 15 years before, when I was a student?
I return to this same conference next year, and I console myself with the fact that, for once, they'll choose a location with a more user-friendly atmosphere. The odds are with me, right?
Well, the announcement has been made. The next conference is going to be held in San Diego. Maybe the third time's the charm. Still, I'll be bringing a suitcase of snacks along with me.