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Please tell me there's room at the inn

Please tell me there's room at the inn

One thing about a flight to Vegas: there's a lot of men wearing gold chains on the plane. Not on the first leg of the flight, from Portland, but from our Detroit connection. Real Mainers aren't flashy. They are however, quite pasty at this time of year.

Following a day of uneventful travel, we arrived at our hotel, you know the one, it looks like a giant pyramid and sphinx, only to find the hotel couldn't find any of our reservations. That's got to be right up there with cancelled flights and lost luggage on the weary traveler's checklist of things NOT to do on your trip.

They moved us to the side, gave us bottled water and said they'd take care of us.

Enter Greg Thompson, also checking in (he had a room). He offered us any help we needed editorially speaking, but when Jo and Rick started joking about bunking down with him, he scampered.

Can't say as I blame him.

Eventually, the hotel worked it out, just in time before I started having visions of the Motel 6 we passed on the way here.

So here I sit, at 4 in the morning, still on East Coast time with nary a cup of coffee in sight. On the agenda for today: booth set-up (come see us at booth 1005) followed by a couple of sessions. I haven't determined exactly what, yet, but I am eyeing sessions on CPAP resupply and oxygen.

I'd also like to check out the hotel a bit more to get my bearings (after finally getting into my room, 6 local, but 9 in my mind), I wasted no time in hanging up my clothes, and scattering product around the bathroom before hitting the tequila bar for an icy margarita.

Welcome to Medtrade Spring.


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