Adventurous Kate contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase through these links, I will earn a commission at no extra cost to you. After weeks of interviews, I was ecstatic to get a job at a marketing firm that had a beautiful office, a great location in Fort Point, Boston, and an interviewer who coyly hinted at their list of celebrity clients.
My job as a research assistant for the concierge department of an elite credit card was to take on the complicated tasks passed on from those who took the calls.
Not simple things like making dining reservations or ordering flowers, but things like planning marriage proposals and securing sold-out Superbowl tickets sold at sky-high rates. I acquired an encyclopedic knowledge of New York restaurants and Las Vegas nightclubs in the process. My weirdest task? Tracking down a puppy born in rural Japan with a heart-shaped spot on its butt for a Los Angeles-based socialite who yearned to be in tabloids.
And my coworkers were fantastic. Just across the channel, the Intercontinental Boston was where we went to commiserate, to celebrate, to feel important. And because they had a hour French bistro that has sadly since closed , it was the only way those of us working the PM shift could actually indulge in Restaurant Week. More often than not, I showed up in my favorite t-shirt that read SILF and had a picture of a sandwich on it. This man was awful. And I had to act like he was hilarious because I was the one person at the company he could stand.
On days when we felt worthless, at the Intercontinental, we were treated like we deserved to be there. Those post-work nights at the Intercontinental made me a fan of the brand for life, and when I booked my trip to Cancun shortly after leaving that job, I chose the Intercontinental. A few years later, I got to enjoy the Intercontinental Amman on my trip to Jordan.
