All I want is a command center

So I was combing the internet for any advance hint of the hotel list for this year's Comic-Con (fruitlessly, I might add - and as I searched back through archived blog posts from last year, I realized that there's not likely to be any news until the 31st or so. This despite the fact that reservations will almost certainly open on February 6th), and while I found pretty much zilch, I still built upon that in my OCD way.

I might not have mentioned that I do, at the moment, already have two hotel rooms reserved in San Diego for the entirety of that weekend. One is at a perfectly nice hotel that I have no desire to stay at, and the other is, well, somewhat out of my price range. As in, I could stay at this hotel for four nights, or I could take a round-trip flight to London and stay there for four nights. I'm actually vaguely appalled that I made that reservation... but I haven't yet decided to give it up, either. But the actual goal for this year's Con is to obtain a room at the convention rate. If I haven't made it clear why this is quite such a coup, let me spell it out: the difference between what I've agreed to pay for four nights and what the 2008 convention rate for four nights at the same hotel added up to is over a thousand dollars. The difference between how far my less-than-desirable hotel is from the convention center and this hotel is approximately three-quarters of a mile. It boggles the mind.

But it's also not the point. While I'm sure hotel drama will figure into this blog several more times, in this instance it was more about the process. As I sat there, comparing last year's rates with my Google map of all the downtown hotels, contrasting amenities and fees and quiet versus convenience, I started to sketch out my plan of attack for the morning that reservations open (and close. Last year, they had as many people logging on in the first five seconds as they had hotel rooms available).

I thought, okay, well, clearly what I did last year is not going to work. Me, sitting at work, trying to pretend to be working when my entire being is focused on getting through the most frustrating reservations process on earth, for an hour. Not really optimal for getting a room, or for working, funnily enough. So this year I've already decided to call in sick. Or call in with a doctor's appointment, maybe. If I feel like dragging myself in for half a day, afterward.

At first I thought I'd just do it alone. I can sit at my boyfriend's Mac, with my laptop on my lap, and my cell on my shoulder. But that might still not be enough. So then I decided to enlist my mom. Her eyes aren't great, so the internet is out, but I figured we could program the number into her phone, and I could write my credit card number out really big, and she could call too. But then I realized that since we would both be on the phone, a hundred miles apart, we'd be unable to communicate. If one of us got a room, we'd be unable to tell the other to give up. And what if they offered her options I hadn't prepared her for?

My next idea was my boyfriend. If he calls out sick too, then we can each be on a computer and on a phone. And we can talk, if we need to make decisions on the fly. But was that really enough? I thought, what if I get one of my friends who is between jobs right now to come over with her cell phone and laptop? I would have to make a big chart with the hotels and my order of preference, and another with my credit card number, expiration date, etc.

Which is when I realized that I need a command center. You know, your basic room, filled with screens and consoles and charts, shaped roughly like the bridge of a starship. I could hire all of my friends, and we would each have a phone line and a computer and some art supplies, and we would mobilize for each new project. Hotel reservations for Comic-Con? No sweat. A dinner party for ten next Saturday? Just pick a theme. Costumes for a Renaissance fair wedding? Let us know if you need peasants or gentry.

It's my ideal habitat. No wonder that stupid career assessment said I would do well in the military. I guess it wasn't just the snappy uniforms.