So I didn’t have a ready answer when I got that question recently. I suppose it’s a good thing that dozens of disastrous stories didn’t immediately spring to mind.

Surely I have accumulated many calamities over the course of my career. I’ve written about a few of them:

 

• The infamous “Bobble-Headed Pope” story (which still makes me blush a bit)
• The not-quite-lost luggage story from Iceland
• The longest-24-hours-of-my-life-story from Yellowstone Lake (Otherwise known as, “What do you mean there’s not a lodge? Marilyn would never bring us to a place where there isn’t a nice lodge!” story)

And there’s a bunch I haven’t yet written about:

• The story about the purse snatcher in Penang (who didn’t reckon with the likes of a pissed-off Midwestern girl)
• Or the story about the world’s greatest pick-pocket (who ripped me off in broad daylight on a busy sidewalk in Madrid when I knew she was trying to steal from me!)
• The innumerable peculiarities and pitfalls relating to Cuba travel: (11th-hour retraction of a Humanitarian License by our government; unknowingly hiring an illegal taxi to take us to an illegal private restaurant in Trinidad; signing hundreds of dollars worth of traveler’s checks that the currency exchange office wouldn’t accept because I’d signed with a gel pen . . .)

Earlier this week, I was searching in my computer’s hard drive for a document in my “Closed Jobs” folder. I didn’t find what I was looking for, but I did find something that brought back a flood of memories.  It was an email addressed to my staff, dated May 4, 2008. It was a blow-by-blow recap of a farewell dinner-gone-disastrously wrong.

I’d handled this important, high-end incentive program for several years with great success, and this particular program – to Barcelona and Mallorca – had been splendid . . . flawless . . . absolutely perfect . . .

. . . until the final night . . .

So, lest you think that everything I organize is a raging success – which is mostly true – here’s a detailed account of an evening gone awry:

(NOTE: Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

“Dear Team,

XYZ’s program was a stellar success (almost) to the very end.  Everything was excellent – hotels, weather, group dynamics, functions, Hop On-Hop Off bus pass idea in Barcelona – everything truly superb. 

Our final night at the finca (farmhouse) on the island of Mallorca, started off very well.  The red carpet was rolled out, torches lined the path and illuminated the ancient olive trees, we enjoyed a cava reception in the beautiful courtyard, everyone was taking photos of everyone and everything.  Laughter was evidence of a perfectly-planned program.

Then Sonia (my DMC) pulled me aside to advise that a young woman from the group had cut her finger in the ladies room and was bleeding badly.  I hurried to the ladies room, where she was crying and bleeding profusely. She was traveling with her mother – who was mildly hysterical. We got everyone calmed down, and sent them off to the hospital to get stitches.

Obviously, our dinner timing was pushed back – which was unfortunate because we were to depart the hotel at 5:30 AM the next morning to catch our flight.

A long table was beautifully set for 24 people in the in the ancient wine cellar, complete with flowers, candles and gorgeous linens.

Darren (my client) made a nice speech, waiters served the starter course which was a lovely cream soup. For the main course, I had chosen a beef tenderloin that Gabriel had suggested based on his success using this very same finca for one of his groups last year.  It was a thick cut – 2 inches or so – a beautiful piece of meat.

I noticed that most everyone was sending their plates back to the kitchen … sometimes twice. The meat was virtually raw! Some were being polite and just eating the bits around the edges.

Darren was LIVID. “I couldn’t be more angry! I am NOT paying for this meal!”

And now we were even further behind schedule.

Then the flamenco show started and the tension was diffused. We were captivated by the passion and fury (and sex appeal!) of the dancers. Dessert and coffee was served during an intermission, as people mingled and chatted. I was in the middle of a conversation when a woman came up to me and loudly said, “Let’s just go – now!  I’m tired and I want to go.”

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