It seemed like a great idea. Our fearless leader, Fran, suggested we eschew the traditional hotel scene, choosing a place that came highly recommended by a friend of a friend.

The slick promo piece stated that it was a beautiful and spacious loft in the eclectic SoHo district in lower Manhattan. It had seven bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, a fully stocked kitchen, Internet access and a large community room. I thought it would be a good time, sharing this space with Fran, Dick, Chris and Louie, my GT friends, while we attended the annual awards luncheon.

The loft door had a high-tech fingerprint-reading device necessary for entry. I was feeling good about the rest of the possibilities beyond the entrance. Unfortunately, that was the last of the good surprises.

My room was an 8-foot windowless square (cube, if you count the ceiling) of day-glo orange, except for the inside wall which was a huge sliding glass door with crepe-paper-like curtains. My bedding was neon red, with an extra multicolored blanket for extra eye-soreness. My retinas are still burning from this color ambush.There was a small wall TV (which required a PhD to power up), but it was not angled for good viewing in bed. Of course, there was nowhere else in the room to watch it. The other rooms were identical, except for their individual color combinations, all equally as eye-numbing as mine.

There was a working (although slow) PC tucked behind the entrance door. The track lighting in the ceiling was placed behind the user, thereby casting a huge shadow across the keyboard (with its unusually short cord). Perhaps I should have opened the glass-door curtains to allow my neon room to brighten this area. There was a broken printer nearby, which seemed oddly appropriate.

The kitchen was fully stocked, if you like condiments, Wonder Bread and beyond ripe bananas (one of them actually had some yellow still showing). The bathrooms were located conveniently across from our rooms. Turning the sink faucet to hot, then turning on the shower (and clicking your heels three times) produced a nice lukewarm drizzle in the shower. So refreshing! After a shower, we were able to use one small towel doled out to each of us.

With a late afternoon flight back to Chicago, I figured to sleep late (another of my misguided notions). At a crispy 7:15, I was awoken by pounding on the door. Our host had failed to inform us that some sort of meeting was being held that morning in the community room. Our host also forgot to arrive in time to let them in. After three such disturbances, I just left the door open.

You might be asking why we stayed there at all. We arrived late and were so tired we just needed to crash. At least it was fairly clean. As George Costanza once stated, “None of what I have just written was embellished, as no embellishments were needed.”

The loft experience will become legendary, especially because of Fran’s unique sense of humor. I am quite sure it will serve better as an amusing anecdote than it did as a comfortable night’s stay.

-John Wroblewski, distribution specialist