A recent poll by Orbitz For Business came up with one chilling statistic: 24 percent of the business travelers surveyed said they had been required to share a hotel room with a colleague.
Let me say this about that: ewww.
No offense to my colleagues, who are all outstanding people with unparalleled manners and hygiene, but there are things we don’t need to know about each other. Whether we snore. What, if anything, we wear to bed. Our choice of stuffed animals. That sort of thing.
Besides, I’m pretty sure my coworkers already know more about me than they would like to, especially if they were around after I had a couple of beers at my boss’ going-away bash.
Not that I mind sleeping with strangers. I shared a cabin on an overnight train in Spain with two women and a little girl I’d never met. I’ve bunked in hostels with persons of unknown origin. But those were people I will never see again. I didn’t even have to tell them my real name.
Coworkers? That’s different. That stuff doesn’t stay in Vegas, if you know what I mean.
So my policy is this: the only colleague I’m sleeping anywhere near is the one I’m married to.