The Overbooked Hotel
The Overbooked Hotel
I had built an early career in hotels where discretion was valued above publicity and where guests occasionally reminded you that the world was larger than the building itself.
Being young and, arguably, naively stupid, I became increasingly fascinated by a completely different side of hospitality: scale.
Large groups, airports, convention hotels, and the logistics behind them fascinated me.
I wanted to know how it worked.
The saying is “be careful what you wish for,” and this story somewhat demonstrates that I landed the jackpot.
I joined one of the largest hotels in town as its front desk manager.
Shortly after being hired, I found myself managing a situation in which the hotel had somehow sold every room twice, an issue that remained unresolved until the day of arrival.
The problem did not start that day. It had been created weeks earlier.
An ambitious sales team, accustomed to significant wash-down and operating in an unstable market, had taken a gamble. This time, the gamble failed.
The hotel had 400 rooms. More than 800 guests arrived. Simultaneously.
The front office team froze in horror.
Management panicked. Guests demanded answers.
Panic was not going to solve the problem. Reality would.
One thing I have learned about myself over the years is that the more panic there is around me, the calmer and quieter I get.
I am not a particularly extroverted person.
Nor would most people identify me as the loudest person in the room.
I may not have caused the problem. Yet when a crisis emerges, I have a tendency to quietly assume ownership.
Not because of a title. Because somebody has to.
Over the years, I have learned that responsibility and accountability are not always the same thing.
Sometimes the person who solves the problem is not the person who created it.
But the guests do not care whose fault it is.
They simply need somebody to take charge.
The bookings were for single occupancy. The rooms were doubles.
So we started with the facts. I spoke openly with the group leaders. I explained the situation honestly. No excuses. No attempts to hide the problem.
In exchange for compensation, many agreed to share rooms.
Additional reception teams searched the city for available accommodation.
Guests who preferred not to accept the proposed solution were relocated.
Hotel-chartered buses transported guests where necessary.
Slowly, the pressure began to ease. The problem was solved. What remained was another lesson.
Clarity becomes most valuable when everyone else loses theirs.
People often believe leadership is about having the right answers.
In my experience, leadership during a crisis is often about accepting reality quickly, staying calm, and helping others focus on solutions rather than emotions.
To understand the situation, it is important to realise the context.
This was Prague in the years following the fall of the Berlin Wall.
The city was changing at extraordinary speed. Tourism was booming, international investment was arriving, and demand often seemed limitless.
It felt at times as if an entirely new hospitality market was being invented in real time.
New hotels were opening, reservation systems were far less sophisticated than today, and market demand often exceeded available supply.
Occupancy levels that would be considered exceptional today were normal.
Our 400-key hotel operated at approximately 92% annual occupancy.
In such an environment, substantial overbookings on the day of arrival were not unusual.
It was a commercial risk many hotels accepted, based on historical cancellation patterns and expected no-shows.
Most of the time the calculations worked.
Occasionally they did not.
What struck me afterwards was how quickly established procedures became irrelevant.
The reservation system could not solve the problem. The manuals could not solve the problem. Escalating the issue could not solve the problem.
Only people could solve the problem.
The solution emerged through judgement, communication, improvisation, and a willingness to accept responsibility for difficult decisions.
It reminded me that systems and processes are valuable, but they are tools.
Their purpose is to support decision-making, not replace it.
Perhaps that is why I remain cautious whenever a process becomes more important than the judgement it was designed to support.
For me, however, the lasting lesson was different.
Crisis does not create character. Crisis reveals it.
And sometimes it reveals qualities in ourselves that we did not know were there.
Thank you for reading my article.
This article is about how crisis taught me calmness.
This is the fifth of a series of articles – “What hospitality taught me about myself” – in which I share lessons learned throughout my professional and personal journey, and how those experiences have shaped my thinking and led me to develop my own principles.
I hope it has provided some food for thought, encouraged curiosity, and inspired you to keep learning.
Curiosity, humility, and continuous learning remain among the most valuable tools we possess.
About the Author
Raoul Gransier is a Senior International Adviser and owner-focused hotelier with more than 25 years of operational and advisory experience in hospitality, tourism, governance, and performance improvement.
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