My Parents Are Little People

Hotel reviews are the meat of this gig. No, on second thought, they're more like the rice: Not particularly fun to prepare or consume, but completely fundamental to the project as a whole. Hostels are the easiest reviews. Hostel owners view guidebook writers as their natural allies, and are generally glad to see us no matter what's been written about them by previous writers. Mid-level hotels, and 'boutique' hotels, are usually reasonably straightforward as well. The difficulty arises in the lobbies of the four and five star towers of great repute, management of which either assume that their reputations make the review process superfluous or simply couldn't care less.

The most common treatment at these places is a polite cold shoulder. "These things are handled through the PR manager. Please leave your card and I will pass it forward." Fair enough, I suppose - places like Sofitel and Raffles aren't exactly hurting for business, and the bulk of their clientele isn't likely to run in the same circles as your average Lonely Planet reader. Nonetheless, I have a job to do, and while I can always fall back on the generic lobby / exterior review, as a point of pride I like to be able to see a room whenever possible.

I began my rounds today using the most common strategy for getting a look at a room in hotels with reticent management, posing as a regular Joe looking to help some out of town friends book some future Singapore stay. Digital recorder stashed in the mobile phone holder on my shoulder, I was able to take notes verbally for later transcription. All in all, a workable solution. Yet something felt wrong. It wasn't that I was lying (I was, but all in the name of providing you the reader with a quality review), but that I felt as if I was boring not just myself, but the concierge with whom I was dealing. I decided to spice things up.

At the next hotel - an exclusive, double towered place with an astronomical price tag - I spoke with a lovely woman bearing the name tag "Ann." Ann was manning the customer service desk.

"Hi. I'm here to help my parents book a room," I told her. "They're planning a visit to Singapore sometime this summer, and its kind of a big deal for them. They've never been out of America before."

Ann smiled and asked me to confirm the dates of their arrival, and I gave her a ballpark window, explaining that they hadn't booked their tickets yet, and slipping into the conversation that my parents had "special needs".

"Ah. Special needs...Are they handicapped?"

"No, not that. My parents are little people."

Ann was visibly perplexed. I don't think she'd heard the term before.

"Little people?"

"Yes...um. My father is about this tall," I held my palm level with my solar plexus. "And my mother is a bit taller," I added, raising my hand mid ribcage.

"Ah. You mean they are midgets?"

"They don't like that term. Little people is really more polite. This will be their first time out of the country. You can imagine how hard it is for them to travel. They worry about people staring at them, or trying to pick them up and hug them. It's really kind of difficult. But they've also heard so much about Singapore, and they're just dying to visit."

Ann smiled. "I think we can make their visit very memorable," she said. "Let me show you some of our rooms."

She took me upstairs to the mid-level floors and showed me a standard room.

"This is beautiful," I told her. "What if they wanted something...more elegant?"

"Ah, then you must see our clubhouse floor."

As the elevator whisked us to the upper levels, Ann explained to me the amenities of the clubhouse floor; I repeated salient bits thoughtfully into my right shoulder. "Free breakfast and evening drinks. My parents will love that."

The clubhouse floor was lovely indeed, with each of its rooms featuring hardwood floors, done up in a combination of modern and British colonial-era styling. As an extra touch, each room came equipped with top of the line espresso machines manufactured in Italy. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the city and harbor that would make my fictitious midget parents feel like royalty for a day.

"Do your parents like to swim?" Ann asked.

"Oh yes. But not if the water is too deep."

"They'll love our rooftop pool. We have a jacuzzi as well."

Ann and I made small talk on the way to the roof. She seemed genuinely interested in making sure that my parents had the most excellent of stays at the hotel. On the elevator ride to the lobby, she handed me her personal card.

"When you are ready to make arrangements, please give me a call. If it is possible, I can offer your parents a discount should they stay for a full week."

Thanking her profusely, I exited the hotel. The review had been a stunning success; I'd gotten all the information I needed to write an informed review, and, I believe, injected a bit of excitement into Ann's ordinary routine.

But something still felt wrong: Ann had been kind, so very kind to this man trying to ensure a great vacation for his little people parents. What would she think when I failed to return to finalize the booking? Would she assume that the hotel that she worked for was in some way lacking, or worse still, that she'd somehow unknowingly caused offense to myself, or to little people everywhere. I needed to come up with a different persona, one that would get me into a few rooms in the next hotel without arousing quite as much compassion on the part of hotel management.

Ten minutes later I was standing at the front desk of another of Singapore's top hotels.

"May I help you sir?"

"Ah, yeah..." I began, this time adopting the Texas drawl that my Texan wife claims wouldn't fool an actual Texan. "Yeah. I'm um, well, it's like this, y'see. Mah brother-in-law and his wife...that's mah sister...they're ah, they're thinkin' about takin' a trip out here to Singapore, and I'm supposed to be helpin' em to find a, uh, a suitable hotel."

"Yes. Very good. When will they be arriving?"

"Well yeah, that's kind of...well, they haven't booked their tickets yet, because they need to ensure...look, what I mean to say is that they're what you'd call people with special needs, you see what I'm saying?"

"Ah. You mean they are handicapped?"

"Well no, not as such. They're what you might call 'Big people'.

"I am not sure I..."

"Look, they're just god-damned fat is all, I tell you what, they must weigh between 'em 800 pounds. I ain't sure what that is in kilograms but it still spells F-A-T. God damn, this is embarrassing."

"Ah. I understand. And how do they...move around?"

"Oh, they walk like normal people. Just not too far. They're gonna have to get some special arrangement for the plane over here, I tell you what. I don't even want to ask how that's gonna work but Edna - that's my sister, Edna - says she's already worked it out with the airline. Bob aint none to happy about the trip, I tell you what."

My strategy was so far working; the woman behind the counter was distinctly less enthusiastic than Ann had been.

"So...you would like to see if a room would be suitable for your...family?"

"Yes. Because there's no way we can have 'em staying in our apartment. We've only got the one bedroom."

The woman rang a bell, and a bellboy in a crisply-pressed suit appeared. They exchanged a few words in the Hokkien dialect.

"The bellboy will show you a few rooms that might be suitable," the desk manager said, returning to other duties.

The bellboy was silent on the ride up, and I suspected that he'd been instructed to get the room-showing over with quickly. But I was was trapped in a role, and feared that if I let up even for a minute I'd start cracking up and blow everything.

"Y'all got a freight elevator in this hotel?"

"Yes sir. It is in the back."

"That's good, because I tell you what, if Bob and Edna stay here you might just need it."

"Very good, sir."

The bellboy took me to the first room, a moderately-priced standard with two double beds.

"Nice view...comfortable furniture...full sized flat screen TV...that's good, they love to watch the TV. But you got anything with one big king sized bed?"

"That would be a deluxe. I will show that next."

"Yeah, better. 'Cause there's no way they'll be able to use those little beds."

The deluxe room was larger, and more suitably furnished for a couple of Bob and Edna's girth. The extra large king-sized bed was an especially nice touch.

"The deluxe room also features a bathtub and a separate stand-up shower."

"Yeah, well if you get 'em in that bathtub you'll need a crane to get 'em out. Hell, you'd be better off just bringing someone in here to hose 'em down once a day."

On the elevator down the bellboy mentioned that in addition to having two on-site restaurants, the hotel also offered a free continental breakfast.

"That'll make 'em both real happy."

I passed by the desk manager, collected a business card and rate sheet, and told her I'd relay the information to the folks back home. She flashed a terse, businesslike smile and said nothing as I swaggered out of the air conditioned lobby and hit the muggy streets of Singapore.