Heads in Beds: A Reckless Memoir of Hotels, Hustles, and So-Called Hospitality
Page 25
“Thank you.”
Done. Now you have a reservation all set for next Friday! Why is that good? Well, tomorrow, whenever you get around to it, call the hotel back (this time no need to inquire about a manager), and just tell the front desk you want to cancel your reservation for next Friday, as you are well within your rights to do. No problem. Fee avoided.
Just in case: When you’re pushing the reservation forward, if the front desk agent gets a little uptight on you, a little “unfortunately, the policy is” on you, then it’s time for plan C. The C stands for “cash.” But don’t worry, I am not suggesting you spend money to save money. As Steven Seagal said in Hard to Kill: “Anticipation of death is worse than death itself.” Well, in this case it goes: “Anticipation of getting tipped is worth as much as the tip itself.” So get strong inside and say something like, “Listen, I know you have to follow policy and I know you’re not interested in my story [it’s nice to hear a guest try to understand our position, it softens us up], but if you could just move this reservation until next Friday, I promise I’ll take care of you when I check in.” In this situation, worst-case scenario, the agent says sorry, but no. But most of us will take even the promise of a tip. As Wayne Gretzky said (he’s an excellent tipper by the way): “You miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take.” Or, for a desk agent: “You don’t make 100 percent of the tips you don’t line up.” Me? I’d go for it, maybe hope to have a little cash from you next Friday, go buy some socks with it or something. And when Friday rolls around and I check your reservation and find it dot dot dot. Canceled. Oh, man. I just got Steven Seagaled. You’re so slick you must have a ponytail. Which is gross.
If you are going to complain, if you MUST complain, then, please, eat a mint.
That’s it. Self-explanatory. You catch more bees with honey than with garbage. Well, bees love garbage. Damn. Whatever … just eat a mint.
I don’t want to hear your tragic airline-delay story.
I don’t.
At all.
In my opinion, though people are forced to wear name tags, you should never feel comfortable enough to actually call them by their names.
Gluing a name tag to anyone’s chest makes him or her subordinate. Using it without permission implies that you are aware of this fact and, shit, don’t mind rudely pointing it out. To pick the name off a tag and use it, whatever your intention, makes employees acutely feel they have lost their personal worth, that they themselves are included in the price. Their mothers use that name on a birthday to ask, “Personal Name, did you get everything you wanted, baby?” What right do you have to use it? Just because you walked into the lobby? My advice is to ask for permission. “Jake … may I call you Jake?” Yes, you may. And thank you.
Three Ways to Turn Down a Bellman That Make You Look Like a Prick
1. “I’m balanced.” This one is mythic. Bellmen bring up this phrase with wrath, disgust all over their faces, yet for years I never actually heard it uttered. But bellmen swear it’s said. A guest comes in with bags draped over left and right shoulder, maybe a backpack strapped on tight, a shopping bag hanging from left hand, right hand gripping a roller bag with a carry-on stacked on top. Quite a bit going on. For a few dollars he can lay down his burden and let a nice, hardworking man roll it comfortably to the room. But upon hearing the offer, the guest turns and says: “No, I’m balanced.” For some reason this concept drives bellmen bananas! And then, one winter morning in 2009, I finally heard a guest say it: “I’m balanced.” You’re balanced? I’m pretty sure you are actually overloaded. And, maybe, a prick.
2. “I don’t want to bother them.” This one was also covered in the book proper (this page). Again, these people are trying to make a living. If a stripper writhes over and starts to dance in front of you and you stand up and walk away with your stack of ones, saying, “I don’t want to bother her,” you sound ignorant of the world and, coincidentally, sort of like a prick.
3. “I know how to get there.” That is not the main function of a bellman, sweet guest. We are not offering you a GPS. Even ten-year-olds “know how to get there.” We are offering you a service. This is about luxury. You sound, again, ignorant of the world. You sound, without a doubt, like a prick.
FYA—Finding Your Agent
Not all front desk agents are created equally. I’ve spoken of the power, the power of the crinkly handshake. But I myself have dropped a bill or two on an agent and walked away with nothing from him or her except a nervous smile. And that’s fine for me: I’m a desk agent and happy to tip my people just for being my people. But some of you animals expect your money to work for you. Here are a few tips to ensure that it will.
If you haven’t already called the property directly and found someone competent to work with, then size up the options upon arrival. No one says you have to fly into the lobby and select the first agent who smiles at you. Hang back. Suss it out. Pretend you need to check your cell phone or something. What are we looking for in our agent? Someone who is efficient and not at all nervous, almost bored. If the agent is overly zealous or nervous, he or she might have just begun working at the property and hence is less capable. Not only does the agent have to be comfortable playing the game; the agent must know the property and system well enough to play it properly. If I see an agent running through check-ins efficiently, I will queue up in that line even if I have to wait. If another, weaker agent says, “I can help you over here, sir,” I’ll just say: “No thank you. He’s helped me before, and I don’t mind waiting.” Wait for the agent you selected. Don’t let social pressure turn you into a coward. Don’t let your cowardice put you into a bad room.
Tip UP FRONT. Let the agents know you are serious immediately. I once had a guest talk game the whole check-in: “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. I appreciate your help.” In my head I was thinking: “You can’t hustle a hustler” (50 Cent). Assuming he was actually going to stiff me, I did exactly nothing. (“I peeped it and slid.” —50 Cent again.) Then, once the keys hit his palm, his wallet came out, and as he walked off, he dropped a baby brick on my terminal. Then, experiencing a moral low point in my life, I said, “Wait! Sir! Hold on, please. Um … let me just get those keys back … Right. Yeah, you know, I didn’t think this other room was available, but it just came up. It’s even better.” Then I actually did upgrade him, slyly hiding the fact I thought he was full of shit and thus had done nothing to help him. So: tip UP FRONT.
At this point here is how I do it: I walk up, smile without showing teeth, give the agent my CC, drop a twenty on the desk, and say, “This is for you. Whatever you can do for me, I’d appreciate it.” Boom. If I am after something specific, I will include that as well: “This is for you. Whatever you can do for me, I’d appreciate it: late checkout, wine, whatever.”
Finally, if you happen to have a successful experience, then make a point to memorize the agent’s name. Jot it down. Damn shame if you ever come back or even if the next day something happens and you need a late checkout, yet you can’t recall the name or even describe the person who now, in a way, works for you and would love to help.
Standard LIES That Spew
from the Mouth of a Front Desk Agent
1. All the rooms are basically the same size.
2. Of course I remember you! Welcome back!
3. There is nothing I can do.
4. I appreciate your feedback.
5. I’m sorry the bellman made you uncomfortable. I will certainly alert management.
6. I didn’t mean to sound insulting.
7. I will mail this immediately.
8. My pleasure.
9. I would like to offer my deepest apologies.
10. We hope to see you again!
Brief Guest Survey
1. How would you describe your front desk agent?
A. Uninterested.
B. Curt.
C. Profane.
D. Rude to your wife.
2. How would you describe your bellm
an?
A. Slightly terrifying.
B. Like being trapped in an elevator with an animal that feeds on money.
C. Uninterested, curt, profane, and rude to your wife.
D. Bellman? I’m way too cheap to take help. I told him to fuck off.
3. How would you describe the cleanliness of your room?
A. Brought to you by Pledge.
B. Blood-free at least.
C. Flophousey.
D. Visually clean but not actually clean.
4. How do you feel the property is managed as a whole?
A. Like a prison.
B. Like a whorehouse.
C. Somewhere between a prison and a whorehouse.
D. Like a prisoner’s whorehouse, which sounds really bad.
5. Given the opportunity, would you stay here again?
A. No, thank you.
B. Yeah, no.
C. Never.
D. Okay, sure. Whatever. Fuck it. See you next week.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Farley Chase at Chase Literary for embracing the project, brilliantly altering its shape, and, finally, aiming the artillery shell at the correct fortress.
My undying thanks to Doubleday’s Hannah Wood, who handled the business of me with grace, humor, bottomless intelligence, and once, early on, with inflammatory libelous accusations.
It’s impossible to express my gratitude to Gerry Howard at Doubleday for allowing me to work with him. And a direct thank-you to his gimlet eye for ensuring my book wasn’t festooned with feckless bullshit.
I would like to thank California for birthing me, North Carolina for raising me, New Orleans for educating me, Paris and Copenhagen for maturing me, and, without question, New York City for making me hard as fuck.
Additionally, I would like to thank:
The New York Hotel and Motel Trades Council.
Short Story Thursdays and all of our members (www.shortstorythursdays.com).
All my friends in Partysburg, Brooklyn, for dealing with me while I dealt with this.
Every single guest who ever handed me money.
And, most importantly, every single hotel employee who ever clocked in.
Finally, my immediate family: David, Nan, and Sarah Tomsky.
About the Author
Jacob Tomsky is a dedicated veteran of the hospitality business. Well-spoken, uncannily quick on his feet, and no more honest than he needs to be, he has mastered every facet of the business, worked in many departments, and received multiple promotions for his service. Born in Oakland, California, to a military family, Tomsky now lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Author’s Note
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Appendixes
Acknowledgments
About the Author