Human Squirrels

"...you're not how much money you've got in the bank.  You're not your job.  You're not your family, and you're not who you tell yourself.... You're not your name.... You're not your problems.... You're not your age.... You are not your hopes."  ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Every day can be a stress test at a hotel, depending on your attitude.

It’s blatantly obvious that I don’t have the best attitude about my job, or about many other things in life. I am a lifelong pessimist. I am a negative person and I’m not very fun. It’s become sort of an internal joke that I’ve elected to work in hospitality, but intensely despise the public. I don’t have faith in humanity. I do not “enjoy people’s quirks” like so many people in hospitality say (but that’s sure as hell what I said in my interview!). It’s not a coincidence that the “suits,” as I like to call them, have this conviction that all people are wonderful and fun. Of course, these are the people who make triple my yearly salary and never actually need to face these people in person. Next time you check into a large hotel, look for the frown lines and vacant, glossed-over eyes on the front desk staff.

You will be face-to-face with the living dead.

After years of being a corporate slave in various industries, I am convinced that a young American’s greatest motivation for obtaining a bachelors degree, even on a subconscious level, isn’t to expand horizons, network and make new friends, or acquire the skills to contribute to society. Not in the United States. In my case, I desire that one-way ticket out of customer service hell. The oak framed certificate on my wall that excuses me from the service sector. Nobody really wants these jobs, and it is the only area in this economy that is growing at a steady pace. I don’t think you’ll stop hearing about people going JetBlue in the middle of a shift.

The aptitude tests I took in grade school always indicated that I would thrive in independent work. I thrive best in the warm, fuzzy blanket of silence and solitude. In the mean time, I am the human cattle prod of the largest four-diamond hotel this side of the American Southwest.

And the pseudo-philosophical rant is over.

This city, for a little over two decades, has hosted one of the largest film festivals and music events in the country. This year, upward of 100,000 people will attend. Because of our sheer size and proximity to the city center, we are the feature hotel for the event. Our rooms sell out almost a year in advance and, consequently, we spend a lot of time preparing for it.

When my assistant manager was first hired at the property, she was instructed by general manger to be the “cheerleader of the front desk,” which for some reason reminded me of something Sarah Palin would say. My assistant manager took this to heart and really has been somewhat of a cheerleader. She anticipated a plummet in morale and knew that the festival would arouse tension. Her efforts have been adorable, as embarrassing as they are. We’ve been required to wear themed t-shirts daily, which are super comfortable by the way. I suppose it’s that guests take us that much less seriously. She has also supplied the back office with chocolate bars, potato chips, and other snacks. During every shift meeting, she passes out plastic party favors bought in bulk from the Dollar General. I think we all appreciate these small gestures. The majority of us are members of Generation Y and will probably never shed the cloak of childishness. I guess upper management knows we rely on constant praise and juice boxes to survive a work day. She’s a saint.

It would be a gross exaggeration if I said the guests attending this event are difficult on an individual level. They’re really not. Most of them are mellow twenty-somethings here to have a good time. They’re generally low maintenance and are easy to get along with. I suppose my grievances aren’t with guests as much as the masses and masses of bodies commuting through the hotel. Imagine the volume of one thousand chattering strangers, and multiply that by eight hours. We’ve been armed with a glass jar of cough drops in the event we lose our voices. I suppose if I were to find a silver lining, I do have the privilege of yelling at guests all I want. They won’t hear me otherwise:

"WHERE'S THE BATHROOM?"

"WHERE'S THE BATON?"

"THE BATHROOM!"

"WHAT? THE BATON?"

"THE BATHROOM!"

"OVER THERE!"

 All of this reminds me of the interrogation techniques used against Shi’ite terrorists at Guantanamo Bay. In addition to the water boarding, interrogation experts would sometimes force prisoners into a cement room. They were forced to stand with their hands chained to the floor, while strobe lights and Clockwork Orange film projections shot against the walls. They would be left in there for hours, while guards blasted Black Sabbath and Marilyn Manson at maximum volume. That’s an exaggeration, but it’s the best metaphor I can come up with. A 56-hour work week homage to War on Terror Gitmo torture. I thought I was starting to hallucinate when I started seeing man-sized chipmunks and squirrels roaming the lobby, holding cardboard signs with the phrase “Get Acorn” written in magic marker. I was quickly reassured that “Get Acorn” is actually a new Ap for iPhone, that is was a marketing stunt, and that I had no real cause for concern.

It all became especially surreal when, at the end of a long evening, I was yelled at in German because the hotel did not have a smoking room available. Despite the enraged shaking that happens to me during guest confrontation, or the sharp pain in my arm (so severe, sometimes, that I cannot even lift it), I blanked out. I guess it has become a sort of defense mechanism. While this pint-sized blonde was shrieking Germanic obscenities, I astral projected into space.

Bach’s prelude from Cello Suite No.1 plays in my head sometimes when it happens.

I also unintentionally made a girl cry, too.

Because I wouldn’t hold onto her luggage for her.

Because she wasn’t even a guest in the hotel.

I guess my lack of empathy for some of these people brings new definition for the phrase “checked out.” 

Who The Hell Really Wants to Be In Hospitality?

The Bride vs. GoGo.

This is an extremely exaggerated metaphor for my constant struggle with this job.

Enjoying the unwavering and innovative use of violence by the genius Quentin Tarantino. If only I could spar with real blood, and not with sarcasm.

This isn’t about guests. As much as I’d like to tell you about the man who argued with me over the cost of the health club (if we’d offer complimentary access, we’d surely save money on the furniture broken by overweight fuck fests!), this about the hospitality field.

I’m convinced, after almost a year at this hotel, that to survive a person must have some severe mental illness. No need for $40,000 on a degree in sociology. I’m certain that I missed the fine print while applying: Must have the ability to check identity upon arrival.

Only a real masochist could endure this type of mental slavery.



10 Important Things To Know About Hotels

1.) We don’t make the rules.

So don’t kill the messengers.

The front desk does not decide what room rates are, supply and demand does.

The front desk does not establish how many valet parking spaces will be designated, the corporate offices do.

The front desk does not determine how much internet will cost, the sales department does.

Even the general manager does not have the authority to decide these things, so please do not ask to speak with her.

Employees are all limited by rules and regulations, and may only make accommodations based on what they are empowered to do. Our job is to deliver premium service to ensure that your stay is ideal. Please do your research and determine what your costs will be. We do not run a business of customer exploitation nor highway robbery.

2.) Hotels automatically authorize your credit or debit card for an extra $50 per night.

The average guest, with parking, Internet, room service, and so on, will charge about $50 per night on incidentals. So, if you are traveling with a debit card, the hotel will remove this amount as a temporary authorization. It is essentially a security deposit to ensure that a guest has the funds to pay for services provided. The guest will not have access to these funds until he/she checks out.

If you do not want this authorization implemented, ask your front desk agent to prepay for room, tax, and parking. The agent will then remove your credit card to prevent an authorization, and “stop charge” your reservation. You will not be able to charge anything to your room, but you’ll have access to your money.

3.) When we say the hotel is sold out, we’re not lying to you.

Like all major airlines, hotels also purposefully overbook because there is a carefully calculated estimation about how many guests will not show up. When we tell you we’re sold out, we’re actually overbooked by a number of rooms. There is even a possibility that the hotel will send people away, and place them at different properties.

Most front desk agents, however, will be happy to help you find a reservation at another hotel.

 
4.) Have your photo I.D. handy at all times

Hotels are very protective of their guests, and rightfully so. We do not give out any guest information unless a photo I.D. is provided. So if you lose your room key, have a question about your credit card, and forgot your room number, the staff will make sure you’re not a stranger. The front desk implements these rules to ensure your privacy, not to harass or inconvenience you.

5.) There’s no such thing as free at a four-diamond hotel.

Two-diamond and three-diamond properties (Embassy Suites, Courtyard Marriott, etc.) are limited service hotels, so they create initiatives to inspire you to stay there. They offer free breakfast, free parking, free happy hour, and free wireless Internet. These hotels have lower standards of service and are not usually 100% 24-hour operated. The rooms have fewer amenities and are not as nice as the ones at four-diamond hotels.

Four-diamond hotels, like the one I’m employed by, are 100% 24-hour, full service properties. We are equipped with a staff of bellmen, valet attendants, housekeepers, kitchen staff, engineers, and front desk staff 24-hours day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. We are here to wait on you for the entirety of your stay, even when you’re fast asleep. Our service standards are incredibly high, and we want to ensure that you don’t need to lift a finger (if you don’t want to).

Because you are guaranteed service enviable and unmatched by other businesses, everything comes at a cost. There is no free breakfast, free coffee, free parking, or free WiFi. This comes to a surprise to a lot of inexperienced transient guests.

Please do your research before coming to a hotel. We don’t intend to surprise you with costs. You do, however, get what you pay for.

6.) Things you should know about Expedia, Travelocity, and other third-party travel websites.

I find myself explaining these things to guests with third-party reservations multiple times a day.

When you see a commercial for these websites on television, almost all of them will boast that hotels have rooms to sell and without Priceline, Expedia, Travelocity, etc., hotels would not accumulate as much business. And that’s true, but at a cost.

The rooms that hotels need to sell are sometimes the undesirable ones (smoking rooms, rooms near elevators, handicapped rooms). When you book with a third party, you are not guaranteed a certain room type. All these reservations are booked “house,” meaning that they are selected at check-in. So, if the hotel is sold out of most room types, guess what you’re getting. A smoking handicapped room on a low floor, near the elevator, with one bed and a rollaway cot.

Third-party reservations are also set in stone. The hotel cannot modify them. They are prepaid, non-refundable reservations. So if you need to cancel or change your arrival date, you cannot. And you will not be refunded your deposit.

So, if you’re celebrating a special occasion, or are particularly set on a certain room type, book through the hotel’s website. You may not save as much money, but you will be guaranteed a room type and will be able to modify the reservation as needed.

7.) Your room keys are magnetic.

And they become demagnetized by cell phones, magnets (including the one in your designer handbag!), and sometimes even other credit cards. Please be careful.

8.) We love you, but we’re not in love with you.

Your hotel staff doesn’t offer “special” services, if you know what I mean. As with bartenders, flight attendants, and servers, don’t hit on the front desk staff. Don’t take advantage of the fact that we cannot breach professionalism. We’re paid to be nice to you, not to be sexually harassed.

9.) Tip your valet attendant, bellman, and housekeeper.

Valet attendants and bellmen, like servers, only make about $3 an hour because their jobs are tip-based. They rely on tips as their main source of income, and when you leave them empty handed, it’s almost like they’re doing their job for free. Housekeepers are paid minimum wage and are some of the hardest workers in the hotel. They clean upward of 16 rooms in a shift.

Standard tip for valet and bell staff is $5. Standard tip for housekeeping is $2-$5 per day.

We take tips, too.

This may be controversial, but I’m not implying that you tip the front desk staff when they check you in or out. Sometimes, however, it is requested that we complete tasks that require a lot of extra work. When the hotel is sold out, we go out of our way to find you a reservation at a different hotel, even if the hotel is outside our brand. When you have a wedding party, we ensure all your guests receive their gift bags by manually putting notes in their reservations (sometimes for 100 people!), in addition to making sure they’re safe. We sometimes act as concierges and get you a table at a restaurant whose queue is backed up six months. We’ll illegally take you to our rooftop so you can have a romantic and private proposal to your girlfriend.

Please, if you’re asking us to do something bordering the absurd or impossible, tip us. Even a dollar shows you have good faith and appreciate our going the extra mile. We don’t get paid any extra to do these things, nor receive recognition for it.

10.) You do not need to check out. (Get the fuck out!)

Hotels put your folio underneath your door for a reason.

Unless you want to dispute a charge, or change the method of payment, you are free to go.

Ballad of the Faulty Blowdryer

I’m at the tail end of a 64-hour work week and, after publishing a delirious entry on Facebook about an atomic bomb neutralizing my hotel, it’s fair to say that I am at a breaking point. I am hallucinating. I am astral projecting myself into a lavish, imaginary world of tip-toeing around in $1,300 shoes and wandering the desert in Rodarte haute couture. I was inspired this morning to apply red Laura Mercier lipstick and orange Shisedo lip gloss to defer my guests’ attention from my insincere “fuck you” eyes to my kissable lips. I’m getting a little desperate. I’m name dropping the brands of my makeup. If you were curious, both of these were inherited or free.

The hotel hosts upward of one hundred groups every year. We’ve seen everything from conservative Christian right pro-life groups, farm equipment manufacturers, and hair dressing conventions. The front desk, after encountering these groups as one, beastly force, observes a general personality type. The pro-life groups are unsmiling, serious, and usually over the age of 35. The farm equipment manufacturers are reserved, polite, and low maintenance. The hair stylists are superficial, rude, and extremely high maintenance (35 towels, anyone?).

The most recent group in-house was some American association of loony doctors (psychiatrists), celebrating their 40^th anniversary. It was amusing, yet unsurprising, that the 400 some odd attendees were even-tempered and patient, despite my unwelcoming “How the fuck can I help you, today?” The especially older ones maintained composure and spoke in a soothing, unvarying tone of voice. These people were good at paying attention, and unlike the guests who carry on a cell phone conversation while I’m trying to decipher whether they’d like a mini bar key, remained focused.

I really only had one guest issue from this entire group. Psychiatry is a field that requires a lot of training and education, sometimes upward of ten years. They listed their names with M.D., Ph.D.,etc., even on the reservations that only I would see. I had a woman smugly correct me when I called her “Ms. Blahblahblah.” She frowned and replied: “Doctor Blahblahblah.” You understand. These people are well-educated and make $200,000+ a year. They have an average IQ of 120 and above.

This guest’s name was “Tabitha.” Tabitha had approached one of my colleagues the day before, shaking the blow dyer she had brought down from her room, insisting that it didn’t work. These things happen all the time. It’s an 800 room hotel, and things break. My colleague aptly send another to her room, promising that housekeeping would test it and that it would work properly. Tabitha thanked her and removed herself from the front desk, combing her disheveled hair with her fingertips.

This morning, Tabitha approached me with another blow dryer, shaking it violently. Her hair was a damp seagull’s nest, and she raised her voice enough to the catch the attention of some other guests.

  
"This doesn't work, either," she cried, looking incredibly helpless and annoyed. "There's probably something wrong with the outlets in my room. I don't know!"

Now, I don’t have years experience in hospitality, but during my time here, I have never heard a complaint about electricity in this hotel. Of course, we’ve had plenty of issues with hot water and air conditioning, but the electrical outlets. I was skeptical, deciding to investigate. I pulled up her reservation on my computer and noticed she was in the psychiatrists’ group room code, and her name clearly had an M.D. trailing it.

I took the blow dryer from her and examined it carefully, like a forensics investigator scanning for fingerprints. I plugged the device into the outlet at the front desk, fiddling with the red and blue buttons on the plug in. Eureka! An embarrassingly loud WUUUUURRRRRRR echoed in the lobby, and my supervisor looked over at me proudly.

"I know you're already checked out of your room," I said. "So you're welcome to use the lobby restroom for your hair. There are two outlets near the sink."

She begrudging lingered into the restroom, the cord of the dryer swaying to and fro like the tail of a timid dog.

Not thirty seconds later, Tabitha stomps back to the desk, again shaking the dryer, looking desperate and furious.

"IT. IS. NOT. WORKING."

My acting skills have become very good in the months I’ve been at the front desk, and I squeeze my face into an expression of empathy. I excuse myself and follow her to the restroom, opening the door and inviting her inside. The plug the hair dryer into the outlet. I switch it on. WUUURRRRRRRRRRR.

We make eye contact and I smile coyly (problem?), and glide back out into the lobby.

At this point, my supervisor has a serious case of giggles, and she whispers, “I can’t believe you did that!”

It was a victory for us community college drop outs.

The general consensus of this story: would you trust somebody to prescribe you anti-depressants and anti-psychotics if she cannot work a blow dryer?