The Real Estate Agents Will Wear Pants, I Promise

I hosted the first conference of my career some 30 years ago in Costa Rica. It was a tour, too. The group spent a few days in San José and then a few days on the coast at Guanacaste. My co-hostess for the event was a friend and colleague at the time named Josianne.

Our first morning at the hotel in Guanacaste, Josianne and I woke early and walked over to the hotel’s open-air dining room on the beach. The door to the kitchen behind it was locked. Looking through the windows, we could see inside. The tiny kitchen was dark and empty. Where was the staff? The cook? Our group would be arriving for breakfast anytime.

At this time on this coast, options, including dining options, were limited. Our group needed a morning meal, and there was nowhere other than the dining room of the hotel where we were staying for them to get one.

Josianne and I walked back to the hotel lobby. The young girl at the front desk didn’t know where the kitchen staff was or why they were late showing up to work. She did, though, have a key to the kitchen. By now, a couple of our tour-goers had found their way to the dining room. They had seated themselves and were looking a bit annoyed. No waitstaff in sight, and the air was hot and still. The control for the ceiling fans was inside the locked kitchen.

Josianne and I unlocked the kitchen door, turned on the lights and the ceiling fans, and took inventory. We had eggs, butter, bread, and orange juice. There were tea bags but no