Every hotel, whether its the Four Seasons Beverly Hills or the Renaissance Hotel Prague, is -- at its most basic -- exactly the same. You could blindfold most business travelers, spin them around 13 times, and push them into an anonymous hotel room and they would be able to run a hot shower, set the alarm, turn on CNN and call home to say they've arrived safely.

This Hyatt is no exception. Closet on right. Desk straight ahead, perpendicular to the TV stand that faces the bed. The latter is against the left wall. Its spread has, of course, an ambiguous flower-pattern and white sheets that are tucked with exaggerated tightness under the mattress. Between them, the foamy and stiff thing that most hotels pass off as a blanket. On left of entry, the bathroom. Faithful shampoo, conditioner and lotion tubes stand at solitary attention over the soap bar. Hm. Surprising water pressure in the shower tub today. (Tell me though: when's the last time you took a bath in a hotel room?) And, we can't forget the "piece de resistance": dozens of towels that always inhabit such places (face towels, hand towels, feet towels and body towels). Yes. This is a hotel room.

But I'm not fully satisfied. Flirting with the desk clerk at check-in clearly had not been as effective as I had hoped. (It probably didn't help either that her supervisor was hovering just a few feet away.) Despite elite status here, she hadn't put us in a Regency Club or even a Business Plan room. That means no complimentary cocktails or breakfast and most critically no free WiFi. I'd have to remedy that. I collected the keycards and headed down to the lobby. One of the cards wasn't working, so that gave me a good excuse to interact some more with the clerk.

With her supervisor no where to be found, I sidled up to the desk with a grin. "Guten abend! (I had noticed earlier she was from Berlin.) It's quiet down here! ... By the way, one of my keycards wasn't working. Can you replace it?" She smiled back, shrugged and took the card from me. This is going well. "By the way." I paused ever so slightly for effect. "I noticed our room wasn't equipped with complimentary WiFi." Apparently a feature only available in Business Plan rooms. "Well, it's technically not available on the rate you're paying," she said, paused and then lowered her voice. "But I'll make an exception." Did I catch a wink there? She smirked, clearly proud of her power to make a customer happy, and handed over the password. Score!! After the necessary graces (in German of course), I was back up in my room surfing the Information Superhighway.

You see, in TravelLand, while airlines and hotels pride themselves on square standards and set processes, they recognize that ultimately they are in the service business. Although somewhat lessened in the recent financial crunch, enormous leeway is given to frontline staff to do what is necessary yet allowable to please their best customers.

Some schools of "TravelThink" say that when something goes wrong you get pissed (and believe me, I've seen PISSED). Take it all out on the customer service agent, they say, and you'll get everything you want. I've seen six-figure business executives throw temper tantrums that would make most drill sergeants blush. I will grant that this method is often pretty effective. If nothing else the rep will acquiesce just to get the jerk to shut up. But frankly people like this are a bit short-sighted. They may get what they wanted now, but that agent is never going to forget this guy. So they might as well dismiss any notion of getting favours later on.

As for me, I sit in the other camp. Like your grandmother says, "You attract more bees with honey than vinegar." Use the Golden Rule. Respect the human on the other side of the countertop and wonders can happen. I've gotten upgrades, vouchers, credits, waivers, favours, you name it, after treating the agent like a fellow human being. Travel 101 (heck, Living on Planet Earth 101) as far as I'm concerned.

I've already disposed of the far-too-soft pillows on the bed and grabbed the firmer pillow from the top shelf in the closet. Time for bed.