I arrived in an unfamiliar city late at night and told the taxi driver I was staying at the Grand Hotel. At reception, the staff could not find my reservation. I showed them the confirmation, insisted the booking existed, and slowly became the kind of tired traveler everyone hates. The receptionist turned my phone around and pointed to one word: Central. I was booked at the Grand Central Hotel, across the river. Behind me, a wedding party had gathered in the lobby. They had heard the entire discussion. When I finally understood, one person started clapping. The rest joined in as I dragged my suitcase toward the exit. The receptionist called me another taxi and wrote the full hotel name on a card in enormous letters. At the correct hotel, I tried to hand that card to reception like official travel documents. They already knew. The first receptionist had called ahead to warn them that a very confused guest was coming.