The Day Full Of Reviews, Post Two:

Attention, visiting rock stars, titans of industry, leaders of rich nations, or excessively wealthy individuals: I have discovered where you should stay when you visit the Fair City of Chicago.

First, some background: My friend Shannon, who I've known since we were 15, has a spiffy job that involves planning a major conference for a DC-based association. There are plenty of things that suck about her job, I'm sure, but I keep being seduced by the one bright and shiny upside -- namely, that hotels and entire cities want to impress her enough to schedule her conference there. This means girlfriend gets some perks.

She's been given playoff tickets in Dallas. Theater tickets in Toronto. She has more hotel swag than Leona Helmsley. And she gets some really, really great rooms.

She's in Chicago for a meeting, and the Hyatt Regency on Wacker decided to show off the good stuff. They put her in the Monarch Suite.

Now, Shannon is used to being treated well at hotels. Like I said, they suck up to her something fierce, which is as it should be. (I, on the other hand, feel like I'm staying someplace unbearably swanky when they have a bathrobe in the room.) Even she was blown away by this place.

Shannon: You have to come up to this suite -- there's a Baby Grand in the foyer!
Me: Wait -- there's a foyer?

Yes, there is a foyer, which drips marble. There is a Baby Grand, which is kept in tune (yes, we checked.) There is a wet bar, with a hidden "servant's entrance" so the help can get in discreetly. There is a pool table. There is a free-standing fireplace open on two sides. There is a master bath that is bigger than my entire apartment in Hong Kong, with a jacuzzi and separate shower with six showerheads, which can be used as a steam room. There are full-size Portico bath and body lotions and potions (which I pinched.) (No, Shannon won't get in trouble -- I met the hotel pimp, and announced I would be stealing them. He was fine with that.) There are two plush bathrobes (which Shannon would not let me steal. Curses!) There is a plasma TV and sophisticated sound system (ditto). There are high, high ceilings -- Dawn held a pool cue over her head, and still couldn't touch the ceiling. The furniture probably costs more than my entire house.

According to the hotel, one can entertain up to 150 guests in the suite. I believe it -- it's bigger than my apartment. And a hell of a lot nicer.

Plus, the hotel pimps gave Shannon wine and chocolate-covered strawberries, which Dawn and I graciously helped her consume. All while saying "Holy shit! HOLY SHIT!" at the top of our lungs as we saw the newest bit of luxury, while Shannon said "I know! I KNOW!"

I am in the wrong line of work. I'm lucky when I get free pens.

Dawn, Shannon and I played an exceedingly incompetent game of pool, turned on the fireplace, looked at the view, perched on the furniture, and laughed at the CDs that were provided in the suite: The Backstreet Boys (???) and Elton John. Maybe they'd both stayed in said suite,a and left CDs for future guests? Who knows.

Which reminds me -- when a five-member band comes to town, does each one get a monster suite? What if there are only four monster suites in a single hotel -- do they spread them out to different hotels? Or do they get less spectacular but still swanky rooms? Things to ponder.

Alas, Shannon was only staying the suite for one night. After that, she got moved to the hotel that was actually hosting her meeting, which I'm sure supplied her with a perfectly adequate but, in comparison, resoundingly unspectacular room.

And Shannon -- next time you go on a junket where hotels and/or entire cities are trying to bribe you, and your husband can't go, sign me up. I've got a flexible schedule, and I'm more than happy to help you, um, "evaluate the different options in a specific venue." (i.e., exploit the hell out of whoever is exploitable. And next time, I want a bathrobe!)