Hotel Etiquette

My most recent “down time” job is working the front desk at a local hotel. The job is a favor I do for the property’s assistant general manager, a woman who worked part time at the school where I taught. I figured this would be an easy way to make some extra money while seeing if I really wasted all those student loans on graduate studies that I will never use. I did.

Overall, I genuinely like the hotel business. I like helping people, and honestly, there is a lot of downtime. The folk for whom I work are just happy to have a big Black man working the front desk on the weekends. This saves on what a security guard would cost. The money pays my son’s tuition, hopefully allowing him to never have to work two jobs. Based on similarities between his and Dad’s schooling, though, the future on that one isn’t looking so good.

I digress. I enjoy being in the service industry. I treat people as I want to be treated. I work to treat the property as my own, and the guests as family. Most of the time that works just fine. Lately, I find myself losing patience with people who do not understand hotel etiquette. It embarrasses me to no end the number of folk who check into hotels and act as if they have never been anywhere in their lives. Bear in mind, I know of what I speak: in a past life I was a frequent corporate traveler. I regularly stayed in decent establishments such as the Four Seasons, Nikko and Intercontinental. Palaces? No, but these establishments are paragons of service. It was there I learned service works two ways, and a gentleman is judged by how he treats those who serve him. Today’s hotel guest needs to understand that.

First on my list of is Bad Guest Number One. This guest believes that his payment makes my world is his oyster. We in Hospitality strive to make your experience in your home away from home as pleasant as possible. Be honest, though. Jeffrey has never crossed your threshold. This is not feudal England and if it was, you are about as serf as serf gets. I have experienced guests who feel that because they have paid their nightly room rate, they are entitled to be assholes. Not so. You are entitled to polite, friendly service. You are not entitled to Puffy Combs attitude at Blexican rates. If your home training leads you to trash your room, leave something nice for the housekeeper. If you must do your R.Kelly golden bling thing with your date, please make it in the bathroom. Don’t even think of calling me with asinine demands, or worse yet, threats. Again, they hired this big Black man to work this shift for a reason. I don’t mind earning my pay. “If you don’t bring me some pillows NOW…” You are just going to go pillow less, my friend. We both know it. Get over yourself.

Those nice folk are nothing compared to Bad Guest Number Two. This guy wants to nickel and dime his rate down to nothing. I have honestly asked some of these gentlemen if they would not be better off staying home. It’s cheaper. Frankly, I have all but stopped giving discounts, as I have come to regret almost every one. The man who needs a discount because his money is funny. The dude that wants the Black people discount. The white guy “I-speak-fluent-jive” discount. The female “Ooh-you-so-cute-no-you-didn’t-see-me-here-with-a-different-guy-yesterday” discount. Sadly, I have found the person who pays standard rate is less likely to complain, "My toilet water is not cold enough, and my bowels require an upward chill of 50 degrees Fahrenheit to move."

I had a gentleman (a term I use loosely) pull up in a $60,000 truck wearing jewelry worth more than Tahiti’s gross national product. He walked in, took off his dark glasses (the moon glare was probably bothering him) and asked for a rate on a suite. He gave me a song and dance about how he and his “girl” just wanted to have a nice quiet night together. I quoted him a rate. He finally agreed after I knocked off ten percent. He asked how much longer I had to slave on my shift and disappeared. I stuck around to flirt with my relief and lo and behold, who calls but this guy. Suddenly his toilet is broken. Minutes after my shift ends. Probably figures I’m gone. No, he doesn’t want to move to another room. He doesn’t even want an upgrade. He wants a discount. He pretends he never got one. Joke’s on him. My relief is a woman with a phenomenal body, a past that includes several years in the military, and a permanent case of PMS when it comes to those who practice the art of bull. Good luck, Chuck. As I was leaving she had her fabulous derriere perched on the edge of the counter and was explaining to this guy that he could have a similar room, or the police would provide him with one, gratis.

The discounter comes out in force New Years Eve. At 3:30 am on 1/1/09, power on the entire grid went out. We were dark, along with all the businesses on the strip. The following morning a woman comes down and wants a discount because the lights went out. Three thirty in the morning on New Years Day? I am hung over, he’n and she’n, or sleep. Why should you have a discount for something that affected the whole area at such an ungodly hour? That was topped by the guy who tried to smuggle mice into my hotel. True story. Or the woman and her guy who came in with a sob story, got a room on discount, did the horizontal shuffle (look-you have five senses and the sheets didn’t require any review)and tried to get their money back. Twelve minutes later. I declined to acquiesce to their refund and offered to complete said male guest’s obviously unfinished job once things got heated. I think she would have gone for it. She looked frustrated.

Discounters are a fairly tolerable breed, however, when compared to the dreaded pool partier, Bad Guest Number Three. These are parents who decide to throw Junior or Shaquanisha-sheh-sheh a party in a hotel pool. They book one cheap room and cram it with fifty two kids, none of whom have left captivity recently. Mom (it’s always Mom. Sorry ladies.) troops in with just her two and a bag. As the day wears on, more and more people come in looking for room such and such. It’s well planned. No one ever mentions the word “party”. There’s this calm before the storm and suddenly your pool looks like the scene from a beach movie. In fact, just like the beach movie, it’s one big fun world. Why? Because there are no adults there! The other parents have done a drop and run. Mom will hide out in her room while hordes of pre-teens run amok in a scene akin to Lord of the Flies on crack. If you call Mom and ask her to supervise, she will revert to Bad Guest Number One. "I paid my money!" Gee, Ma’am, you paid for a room, not for a party hall. Y’know, there are places where you can have parties for your kids and pay to have them entertained…you’ll do what to my what? Perhaps you’re just frustrated. Did I tell you how I solved a problem for Bad Female Guest Number Two last week?

Finally, there is a guest in a class by himself. The Asshole. I routinely mark up his room price by as much as 35% just to justify the headache. You know him when he walks in. Hair held in place by mousse. Super expensive shades. Clothes that scream ‘Ask me how much I paid for my gear!” The kind of guy who completes every sentence with a clipped, “That’s fine.” “Your wife said she caught you molesting your poodle, sir.” “That’s fine.” His reservation was made weeks in advance. He has stayed with you many times before. Yet he is always surprised and disgusted when he learns you can’t provide him with gravity boots, and you won’t call the general manager at home to ensure he gets fifteen thousand thread count sheets. The asshole is always angry. If his stay was free, he’d bitch. He’s the kind of guy that wins the lottery and moans about taxes. He learns he’s beaten a terminal disease and is mad about the doctor bills. His impotence disappears and he wants to beat his wife for getting pregnant…there’s no pleasing this guy. “That’s fine.”

In the end, I understand getting value for your money. I understand wanting solid customer service. I wonder why, however, at the more expensive hotels, folk pay much more and bring much less silliness to the table. I really don’t want to sound harsh. The bulk of my guests are genuine people whom you enjoy helping make their stay as pleasant as possible. Working in a hotel is kind of like a relationship. When it’s good, it’s great. When it’s bad…That’s fine.