I thought I was planning ahead about a month and a half ago when I was looking up tickets to see Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper painting, and I realized I was actually far too late, as all the tickets in November were completely booked up except for two time slots… which only had one person per time slot left. Then, I realized we were encountering the same problem we did with train tickets to Hualien to see Taroko Gorge in Taiwan in the summer: individual travelers really need to plan months in advance to get tickets, otherwise, the major tour operators snatch up all the tickets in an attempt to make more money and get more customers. The first three tours I looked up were sold out, and finally Chris found a walking tour that included The Last Supper for today, and we booked it. It actually was a really good experience because our guide was very friendly and knowledgeable, and we also got tickets through it to enter Milan’s Duomo.

The Last Supper is so well protected that it’s probably treated better than most human beings treat each other. It’s a painting that is literally on the wall of this large hall, which you cannot access without entering through four protected and electronically controlled doors. The hall is temperature and humidity controlled given the historical damage the painting has faced, and they’re very, very strict about the number of visitors in the hall at once (25 people), how much time you can spend in there (20 minutes max), and of course, absolutely no flash photography. A security worker in the hall was constantly hovering around us, making sure no one was eating, drinking, or about to whip out a flash. Her facial expression was extremely stern; I would not have wanted to piss her off. We found out from our tour guide that someone actually tried to destroy the painting by dropping a bomb on the church; it just missed the hallway and destroyed entire other sections of the church instead. It’s hard to imagine the amount of hate and animosity toward a single painting or painter that would warrant dropping a bomb on the building that houses it.

Because Milan is known to be one of the fashion capitals of the world, a bit of me expected everyone in Milan to be hyper fashion conscious, impeccably dressed, and the women to be more heavily made up. I didn’t really find this to be the case walking around today, but I did notice that a lot of women were wearing high heeled boots. When I think of Chinatowns in any city across the world, the first thing I imagine is a whole slew of restaurants, both the dingy hole-in-the-walls, the family restaurants, and a sprinkling of higher end, banquet-style restaurants. In Milan Chinatown as we walked up and down the streets, it certainly seemed as though there were far more clothing, accessory, and custom-made clothing stores than restaurants of any type. We also ran into a lot of outlets and little stores claiming to sell designer names at reduced prices. We walked into one outlet, and after a bit of looking at what they had, I got immediately exhausted and wanted to leave. Shopping for clothes is always overwhelming and annoying to me. This is why I wish I had a personal shopper to do all my shopping and ensure everything fit correctly. I hate trying on clothes and deciding whether things match or look good on me or not, and when faced with a massive outlet store, instead of getting excited, I get more frustrated by all the options.

Today was the official first day of our annual user conference. I worked as a greeter and usher this morning to help get participants seated and acquainted with the space. Somehow, we managed to get over 1,200 participants from literally all over the world. We even had a good handful of customers who flew in from Europe and Asia for this event. As I stood in the back of the keynote ballroom, I had a similar funny feeling as I did when we had our wedding and had our friends and family come from around the world. These people all came because they are either partners, sponsors, customers, or prospective customers, and they actually believe in our product and our vision. To see the excitement and hear how passionate customers were about experimentation actually got me excited, as well. It was this weird, proud moment to hear all the applause and cheer, to see all these people gathered in this one place to learn more about us and the value we’re trying to bring to them and their businesses.

I’ve never really felt proud or excited to be a part of any company before this one. Being here and feeling all this energy in one place really has me feeling like I am actually drinking the Kool-aid — not in a delusional, fantastical way, but in a way where I feel proud to be part of a company that’s actually doing great things that has a future.

I landed in Las Vegas at around 10am this morning and took an Uber to the hotel where I’ll be staying, where our conference is also happening. After settling in at my room, I did some work and then scrambled to eat my $35 buffet lunch in the ten minutes I had before my volunteer shift started as a greeter. It wasn’t the most organized because I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to eat the provided lunch on the first day, so it was a bit hectic.

The funniest thing about being a greeter at a conference is that people generally don’t ask you what you think they will ask you. You think they will ask, where can I find this class or this session? Is this the right room for X session?

Well, what did they actually ask me? They asked questions like, do you really work at Optimizely (I was wearing my employee badge and my conference shirt!); can you help sneak me into this class, can you get me a free trial for X product? Where can I get water?

You learn something new every day.

I’ve been working full-time for just over nine years now, and for the majority of that time, I’ve been in a client services role. When you work in customer service of any form, you will probably know that you rarely get compliments or praise from your customers; you’re more likely to hear about all the times you screwed up or could have done better. I’ve received plenty of internal praise, but it’s been only a rare occasion when I’ve gotten very specific, positive feedback about any good work I’ve done. It stinks, but that’s the nature of this job.

So as someone who is obviously receiving service constantly, whether it’s at a restaurant, in a hotel, or on a plane, I usually try to be as pleasant as possible. I know how hard the work can be, and how exhausting it is. I am usually forgiving of the blunders I encounter unless they are truly egregious. But maybe something I could be doing more actively is offering official praise.

On our Qantas flight from Sydney to LAX, we were upgraded to Business Class and had a comfortable setup, but as I have been ill, I was not able to enjoy the experience as much as I normally would. Our flight attendant, Tim, picked up right away that I was unwell, and he proactively filled my hot water with lemon and honey constantly without ever being asked. When I napped, I’d miraculously wake up to my half-empty water bottle being completely filled. He stopped by frequently when I was awake to ask if he could provide anything additional for me to make me more comfortable. This guy was like a god-send; to truly be god, he just could have gotten me some real fresh, non-recycled airplane air and then I’d have probably married him.

So I just finished writing him an official compliment on the Qantas site and sent it through. I think in my entire life, I’ve only written two official compliments for airlines, and this is the second one. We need to give more credit where credit is truly deserved.

When I checked into my supposed hotel yesterday, I asked the woman at the front desk if there was a coffee maker or water kettle in my room. I had a feeling just based on how basic and bare the lobby was that the answer would be negative, but I wanted to know right away so I could prepare myself for supplies given that I’m unwell. She said that no coffee maker or kettle would be provided, just the “basic hotel amenities like towels, toilet paper, iron and ironing board. Things like coffee makers and water kettles aren’t provided by hotels; they’re provided by motels!” She had a slight smile on her face, as though she were educating me on the differences of classes of accommodation.

I could barely speak with my hoarse and broken voice, I was coughing a lot, and I was in no mood to call this ignorant woman out on her bullshit. Was she really going to look me in the eye and tell me that hotels do not typically provide water kettles or coffee makers? Is she saying that places like the Marriott, the Westin, or the W, which I frequently stay at during regular work trips, do not offer things like that at a charge of $300-400+ per night?!

This “hotel” needs to be put in its place. And at $260/night, it really needs far better amenities… but then again, this is San Francisco, the city with the most expensive hotels in this freaking country. So maybe they think they can get away with it because they are in San Francisco.

I’ve really only lost my voice twice. The first time was when I got whooping cough back in December 2015 and thought I was near death. The second time has been this past week, and it’s been loads of fun. It’s always a terrible feeling when you try to speak to strangers, whether it’s buying things at a cash register or at the doctor’s office’s front desk, and as soon as you open your mouth, the person responds back with pity in his/her eyes: “poor you, you poor, sick child.” I’ve gotten that glum look from too many people to name, whether it’s been saying hi to my doctor today, asking where I can find a thermos, to purchasing water and squeaking out a quiet and hoarse “thank you.”

I went to the doctor’s today… for the second time in four days, right here in San Francisco. I haven’t been to a doctor’s office in this city since my college days when I was still on my mother’s insurance. My doctor was kind and gentle, explained everything very well, and also walked through a lot of the same ideas the New Zealand doctor I had seen had. At least they weren’t completely contradictory. She prescribed me a steroid to help open up my throat and ease my breathing, and to see if this was potentially bacterial given the length of my suffering, an antibiotic. I’m due to see her again on Friday before I leave to see if the antibiotic has helped at all.

I’m on steroids, and I’m also on antibiotics for the second time in almost two years. I feel like an invalid. And I’m still trapped in a crappy hotel room with no ventilation, no AC, and no fan, that my dad asked, “Did your company downgrade? This place is like those really old apartments in the Tenderloin. Even the elevator is outdated!”