As a speaker, my life involved getting paid to go to places where other people vacationed. Still, I have ended up snowbound at a Minneapolis waterpark in January and — frequently — sweltering in Las Vegas in July. One 115-degree day in Vegas, I stepped outside. Big mistake. I trudged less than a block, accidentally touched my belt buckle and burned my hand. I still have the scar. Professional speaking is not without risk.

My wife, Rosie, loves to tell people how she called me one evening and happened to ask what the hotel was like. "It's just another resort," I said. To her, that was like saying, "Just another fabulous vacation." To me, it was more like, "Another day at the office." Of course, your office may not come with a swimming pool, a spa, a fitness center and room service. (You might take that up with your boss.)

I was checking into a resort which shall remain nameless — pseudonymous, actually — when a gentleman in an expensive suit approached. He said, "Mr. Maher, I'm Blankety Blank." (Not his actual name.) "I'm the general manager, and I want to welcome you to the Excelsior Pretencia Grande." (There's that pseudonym.) "It would be my extreme pleasure to personally escort you to your room."

Why not? Though I usually escort myself to my room and I'm reasonably good at it. I seldom get lost, and I've never been set upon by desperados. As for the trip being his extreme pleasure, I'm a fairly convivial guy, but he really needed to lower his expectations. After just a few steps, he stopped and went back for a few whispered words with the desk clerk. Maybe he was getting directions.

We took the elevator to the top floor. I'd been upgraded to a suite. Not just any suite, the fabulous Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Suite. Which meant four — count them, four — bedrooms and three good-sized living rooms. The manager pointed out my patio and told me my helipad was just out there and up the stairs. "Good to know," I replied, as if I expected my helicopter momentarily.

I was assuming my client — we'll call them the International Association of Registered Circus and Birthday Clowns — had gotten the suite comped, as part of their convention package. But the manager explained that he personally upgraded "top-tier guests" — and me, I guess — whenever possible, to encourage them to spread the word among their friends. Clearly, he'd never met my friends.

A doorbell rang — the suite had a doorbell. It should; it was bigger than any house I've ever owned. At the door were two bellmen. One brought in a huge basket of fruit, cheese and assorted goodies. The other had a magnum of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice.

"Compliments of the house," the manager said. "And if there's anything else I can do to make your stay more enjoyable, Mr. Maher. Please don't hesitate to call." Sometimes it's not bad to be confused with Bill Maher, believe me.

I thanked him, and to be fair, I pointed to myself and said, "Barry Maher, right?" He nodded but looked confused. I continued, "Not BILL Maher with his own TV show. But BARRY Maher, here to speak to a bunch of clowns."

He tried to smile, but his suddenly pained expression made the mistake obvious. Still, he didn't repossess the fruit and champagne. And I put the helipad to good use, watching the sunset and sipping champagne. I would have been happy to recommend that resort to all my friends — if room service that evening hadn't given me food poisoning. Professional speaking is not without risk.

You can contact Barry Maher or sign up for his Slightly Off-Kilter newsletter at www.barrymaher.com.

To find out more about Barry Maher and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Sasha Kaunas at Unsplash