My wife Anita and I were at a conference in San Francisco.  We hadn't yet checked into our hotel, which was a Marriott across the street from the main conference hotel.  Anita stayed there with our bags while I went across the street to check our room-and the hotel in general-because it looked pretty dumpy-a single white wooden door to the hotel, with no marquee or anything.  When I opened the door I found there was no lobby and no guests to be seen; I walked down a narrow corridor with frayed carpet leading to another white door, of the old-fashioned style like in the Lingerman's house.  Tentatively I opened it, and there was the registration desk-just a small room, with a single desk, and one woman working there.  I told her we had a reservation, and she didn't find it.  She said they had no rooms.  I was upset, because we had a printed confirmation in our luggage across the street; I told her I could produce it, and that I would never stay at a Marriott again if she turned us away.  She seemed to want to be helpful, and asked me to wait while she searched again.  I wasn't even sure I wanted to stay in such a place, but it was so convenient that I waited, and sure enough she did come up with a room-probably one they were holding in reserve.