The church basement is damp. The folding chairs are metal and cold. The fluorescent light hums like it has somewhere better to be. The floor is vinyl tile the color of a decision nobody remembers making. There is a card table against the wall with a dented coffee percolator from 1972 and a stack of Styrofoam cups. The coffee is two hours old.
Richard has been coming for three weeks. He sits. He listens. He holds his cup with both hands even after it is empty. He has not said a word to anyone.
Tonight he gets the courage. He stands up.
The room goes quiet.
Hi. My name is Richard. I have an OTA addiction.
Hello, Richard.
I paid Expedia to meet my own guests.
I’ve been paying them every month for eleven years.
I went to a conference about it. They gave me a tote bag. The tote bag did not fix anything. I went back the following year. They gave me another tote bag.
I have four tote bags.
I built a PowerPoint about reducing OTA dependence. It had phases. Phase three was action. Phase three is still loading.
I described paying twenty two percent commission as a channel strategy. In a board meeting. To people who trusted me. Nobody flinched. That is the saddest part.
I had a vendor explain exactly what was wrong and exactly how to fix it. I think it was called ODI. I validated his parking. I did not validate his proposal.
I called Expedia a partner. I meant it when I said it. I still don’t know what to do with that.
I kept signing.
Richard sits down.
The room is quiet.
Not the polite kind.
The coffee is still terrible. The door is still unlocked.
It was always unlocked.
