Friends! Tannin-stained comrades! The time has come to rise up and overthrow the shackles of half-assed hotel tea!

We have gone from conference to conference, month after month, year after year. We have choked down stale mini-croissants, poked at soggy and lifeless strudels, and labored in futility to identify the pinkish-brown paste between two triangles of crustless white bread.

We have done this without complaint, without hesitation. But now a line must be drawn.

Hoteliers of the world, quiver with trepidation! We will no longer suffer under the yoke of that abomination you try to pawn off on us as “tea”!

Why do you incur the expense of giant chandeliers, champagne receptions and linen napkins… only to offer tea that was clearly purchased in thirty-kilo crates at Costco? Why is there Neutrogena and Aveda in the guest suites, but Red Rose and Salada on the buffets?

And get us not started on the carafes of tepid fluid you label “Hot Water for Tea,” and the sad rusted halo that forms around whatever tea bag so unlucky as to be drowned therein.

Friends, let there be no question of our resolve. We will take back our world, one low-ceilinged meeting room at a time. No more will coffee drinkers slurp happily during the keynote while we stare sullenly into mugs of mediocrity. No more will we endure PowerPoint presentations without the comforting warmth of a cuppa.

Let us determine for all time to sweep away the vestiges of Mrs. Parker’s empire. Where once there was only powdered creamer or half-and-half, let a million tiny pitchers of cold fresh milk appear. Where there were only bowls of no-name bags of tea ready to split open with the slightest stirring, let there be chests of Earl Grey, Darjeeling, Oolong and assorted herbals. Let lemon wedges supercede tiny muffins and silver spoons succeed splintered stir sticks.

Friends, cast away your vinyl delegates’ kits and “Hello! My name is” stickers. The time for revolution has come. Turn on your kettles and gird your loins. Some of us may fall; the price will be steep. But we will not falter.

And when future generations think of us, may they extend their pinkies and say that we sipped, and sipped well.