Deconstructing Mini-bars

It’s time for our annual mini-bar program review at Opus, so it was quite timely that a little package arrived for me by courier yesterday. Upon opening it I found a “Mile High Kit” complete with lubricant, condoms and a “whisper-quiet massager”. Curious, I turned the massager on. The vibration was so powerful it almost jumped out of my hands. This handy little device appears to be designed for women feeling a bit frisky on the road. But at the size of a small lipstick container I can’t imagine it’s a satisfying substitute for the real thing. Ladies?

Will Opus offer it in our mini-bars? I’m not sure. Currently we offer an “intimacy kit” complete with lubricant and condoms (a big seller), but so far no electronic devices. As much as we like to position Opus as edgy and innovative, something about offering sex toys in the mini-bar makes me nervous. How will guests respond to finding a vibrator next to the M&Ms? And, equally importantly, will it sell?

When I stayed at the Drake Hotel in Toronto last fall I discovered an entire room service menu of sex toys and accoutrements. It made me wonder how many guests pick up the phone and place an order. I’m embarrassed enough asking for a side of mayonnaise with my fries. In New York, in the mini-bar at the 60 Thompson Hotel I found a “Shag Bag” complete with condoms, lubricant and a “natural aphrodisiac”. Oh, and Altoids - in case the aphrodisiac isn’t enough, I guess. At the Gansevoort Hotel the Mile High Kit in my room included a feather tickler. Alas, I was traveling on business and decided it wouldn't be appropriate to try it out on colleagues.

Hotels are often accused of gouging when it comes to mini-bar pricing. What travelers don’t take into account are the costs of labour, spoilage and mysteriously vanishing items. Like room service and banquets, mini-bars are more a service than a profit centre. It’s about convenience. You may ask why you’d pay $4 for a bag of Doritos when you can get one around the corner for 1/4 the price. But who wants to get dressed and go out when there’s one calling your name just a few feet away?

When I travel I always check out the mini-bar, but I rarely succumb to temptation. Well, not right away. I usually check out the prices, let out a great huff of indignation and slam the door. Later, while watching TV, I might have another peak. So many shiny, scrumptious-looking snacks! Such cute, harmless-looking minis! I don’t know about you, but my fridge at home is never stocked this well. Four types of beer? Three choices of chocolate bar? A dozen different snacks? Plus wine, champagne, vodka, gin, rum and liqueurs. It’s like the room comes with a party. How can you not resist?

Yet there are many highly complex emotions involved. It begins with denial: “I simply don’t want that can of Pringles.” Next comes anger: “Those prices are outrageous!” Then bargaining sets in. “If I eat those Pringles I won’t need dinner. It’s cheaper than room service, so I’d actually save money. Which means, in theory, I could have a beer too. And maybe even that little pack of Oreos.” We finally succumb, and a flurry of gluttony follows. Then depression sets in: “I’m fat, I hate myself, and I feel like barfing.” Finally, acceptance: “It’s done and there’s no turning back. And my, doesn’t that Kit Kat look tasty…” Perhaps not uncoincidentally, these are the same five stages of death.

Of course, it’s after those trips when you stoically refuse to touch the mini-bar that, four months later, a late charge shows up on your Visa statement. Your boss wants to know why you drank four minis of Cuervo and a bottle of Grey Goose on a business trip. Your spouse wants to know why you used the Shag Bag. You call the hotel and ask them to remove the charge. But you’re dealing with the Accounting department now. You might as well have drank the Cuervo.

Don’t blame the hotel for these late charges, blame the unscrupulous guest who checked out before you and didn’t fess up to the late-night binge. There’s a reason why hotels don’t call them “honour bars” anymore. When I checked into a room at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel last year I discovered that the mini-bar had been plundered by the previous guest. Terrified I’d be charged, I called the front desk repeatedly, insisting they send an employee up to investigate and, if necessary, dust for fingerprints and press charges. They were a bit more blasé. Eventually someone arrived to replenish the items. I’m still expecting the charges to show up on my Visa statement.

Some travelers go to a store after a binge and try to replace the items. But have you ever tried to find a 50ml bottle of Grand Marnier? Other, less scrupulous guests refill the bottles with water. As if the hotel won’t notice. Occasionally a guests thinks the entire contents of the mini-bar are free. Imagine his shock when he sees the $500 charge on his bill. Recently one of our guests was afraid to touch the fruit basket and wine we left in her room, even though it came with a welcome card from me, because she thought we'd charge her. Now that's hospitality. But who can blame guests these days when hotel rooms are starting like the local 7-Eleven?

Some hotels put a price tag on virtually everything in the room: lamps, bed, artwork, toilet etc. It’s like sleeping in an Ikea showroom. One of my pet peeves is those big bottles of water on the nightstand. They look like a thoughtful gift from the hotel until you see the $9 price tag. (At Opus we offer complimentary bottled water at turndown.) One positive trend is the offering of healthful products. But, while I'm sure these items are appreciated, most travellers will still opt for a Mars Bar and Red Bull.

The photo above is of me as I discover the great mini-bar at Hotel Le Germain in Montreal. No, I didn’t find a pair of women’s shoes inside (though not a bad idea). They’re Katrina’s. Don’t ask.