Monday, September 20, 2010

Prostitutes!

The other night, this guest comes in escorted by one of the local prostitutes we've seen walking the block around our hotel for a few months. He asks for a separate room since he was originally staying with his buds. I slap on what I call my "ho-fee" (upsell the room by $50 if my better judgement tells me you with a ho) and give him the keys. He comes down from his room a few minutes later in his underwear asking us where the nearest ATM is. About 30 minutes after he gets back, the prostitute leaves. That was a quickie!






Another guest comes in with a local prostitute, and comes down (same thing) 10 minutes later asking where an ATM is. He he. These hos must upsell the guys just like I do. This guy was smarter, though. He tells me not to charge anything to his room while he's gone. And guess what? While he was gone, the hooker comes down to purchase some of our menu items and put them on the room. I would have told her the system was down or something, but my colleague told her pretty undiplomatically that "there's a note here saying not to put anything on the room". I wonder if she gave that dude his money's worth after that...






Funny thing is, guys don't ask about my "ho-fee". The prostitute is right there with them and they start acting like they wanna show her that money is not an issue - like he's trying to impress this girl like she's his girlfriend or something. Men with girlfriends and men with hos: They never ask when I upsell. They're just like: "Oh, don't worry, babe. I got that."






Wikipedia's article on night auditors claims that it may contain "original research" with claims that need verification or references. I thought that this research refers to the last item in the article:






"Due to the nighttime shift, the clientele that the night auditor must deal with may be different than that of a typical front desk agent. At some properties, night auditors are known for frequent interactions with prostitutes, who tend to visit hotels at late hours for rendezvous with guests and the graveyard shift staff."






Then, after reading it again, I noticed that this was actually the only part of the article that indeed had a reference. The first part of the book has been scanned and is available online. It's a primer for learning about front desk operations.


Have I dealt with lots of prostitutes during my tenure as a night auditor? At my old hotel we had the problem of prostitutes renting out a room, and getting in multiple male clientele over the night, then smoking in their room and then skipping without paying the bill. The most we could do was black list them. The hotel I'm at now used to be heavy on the prostitutes, and now it's just, well, a so-so prostitute area. Guests come in escorted by "escorts", but no prostitutes rent out rooms here; I guess it's because this hotel is a little more upscale than my former one.


Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Ritz Carlton

Every Ritz Carlton employee has the authority to spend up to $2,000 on a guest. Ya, every single one of them from the GM down to the assistant busboy. I figure Ritz Carlton didn't think that enough people would read their book The New Gold Standard that it would make much difference if they disclosed that little tidbit in their book. Besides, I assume that the kind of old-money clientele that the Ritz attracts wouldn't be out to manipulate staff to go out and buy them a bunch of expensive shit. That would be tacky.

Still, that's a high level of staff empowerment. The idea behind it is to create what Ritz Carlton calls "mystique", and there's no way to micromanage it. Let's say the houseman is cleaning up and sees an empty Diet Dr. Pepper in the bathroom. He could go out and use company money to buy you a new one, put it on ice, and when you get back to your room, your empty bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper has magically reappeared ice-cold and ready to drink. That's the "mystique" that the staff of Ritz Carlton collectively make like a bunch of magic hotel elves.

Surprisingly, this book was a good and inspiring read. The guy who started Ritz Carlton had your typical humble beginnings. When he got  his first job at a hotel, he was a teenage kid and the owner of the hotel was like: Never look the customers in the eye. You will never stay at a grand hotel like this or whatever.

Later on, little Ritz goes to hospitality school and writes an essay entitled "Ladies and Gentlemen Serving Ladies and Gentlemen". He was like 15 years old and there he set his grand vision in motion. Today, the staff at Ritz Carlton are known as "the Ladies and Gentlemen" . And it makes sense, I mean the only person who'd know how to serve royalty would be royalty themselves, right? I'm assuming the hourly pay there is pretty fat, but I don't know anyone who works there.

Ritz Carlton is also a cult. They have a "Credo" that all the employees are supposed to know by heart or something, and they carry around a little "Credo Card", which is kind of like the 10 commandments of customer service. They start every morning with a line up and the staff listens to a story of excellent customer service called "wow stories". They probably also sacrifice a small animal and drink its blood.

I enjoyed reading the wow stories in the book: like the time a catering service couldn't make it out to the wedding because of traffic, so the hotel booked a jet to fly the shit over. Wow - that's pimp! Or the front desk agent who let a guest borrow his shoes because he was in a hurry and forgot to bring dress shoes. Wow - that sucks! I hope he got his shoes back, or bought himself a new $2,000 pair.

All in all, this book made me like Ritz Carlton hotels, and I'd like to work there. I wouldn't stay there as a guest, though, unless I were a rock-star or something and just got wasted and partied all week; that would work.

Monday, August 2, 2010

A Conversation with GOD

A friend of mine has started a self-improvement movement called PWNing life. His challenge really requires an entirely new blog, but I figure I can put something here in my career blog, too. So, one of the first things he did was put out a question: What would you do if God floated into your room and...

GOD: Hey, Elliot. No matter what you do, you'll be successful.
ME: Yeah, but...
GOD: Dude! I'm GOD. I got you.
ME: OK, well, I'm gonna be GM at a super pimp hotel... in a cool, wild Asian country. And I wanna be a rock-star dancer with mad dancefloor skills. I wanna be like Marlin Brando in Apocalypse Now, except instead of being the scary asshole weirdo in a cave, I wanna be the positive, cool and super pimp at a classy hotel on the beach.
Then I wanna open my own hotel chain based on the Japanese capsule-hotel/jacuzzi/spa model; and the motto is "The American perfection of a Japanese tradition." It's for budget travellers who wanna cheap, super-clean place to crash and experience the sento bath and all the different herbal pools with a view of the city they're in (the herbal sento is always on the top floor with a view).
GOD: Got it. Keep moving toward this goal, and I'll send you cues. When I give you a cue, ACT. Oh, and ignore the bullshit. There's lots of bullshit. Just ignore it.
ME: You mean like that bullshit? What bullshit? Huh?
GOD: Exactly. You're on the right track.
ME: I wanna play the congas, too. And I want a black-belt in BJJ. And I want a super social life with lots of cool interesting people who are artists, thinkers and shakers and linchpins. And a crazy mad hot sex life with girls that blow my mind.
GOD: Is that all?
ME: ... a million dollars.
GOD: That's it?
ME: a billion dollars - I mean a billion purchasing-power dollars. Geary-Khamis dollars. I  mean, just really fucking wealthy.
GOD: Of course.
ME: GM pimp, hotel owner, dancer, martial-artist, mad socialite, conguero, gazillionaire.
GOD: That's all good. For now I want you to remember: Baby steps. You take baby steps and keep focused on your goals. With each step, I'll reciprocate with cues and clues that will replenish you, inspire you, and show you where to take the next step. You gotta keep moving. Tell me what door to open, and I'll open it, but I can't drag you through the door. All I can do is float around with my head on a cloud. See?
ME: Oh, shit, I forgot. The most important thing is I wanna have lots of fun. Every day. Fulfilling fun.
GOD: So, that will be all of the above goals plus a per-diem of fulfilling fun, is that correct?
ME: Ya.
GOD: You got it, kid.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Anthony Bourdain Is My Potty-Mouth Enabler

Anthony Bourdain's show had this episode where they went to Brazil and they showed an elephant esophagus and I puked. I've been a fan ever since.
Bourdain's refreshingly cynical writing is a welcome breakfast-of-coffee-and-cigarettes for the soul. He keeps it real while "Selling Out" with chapters like "So You Wanna Be a Chef?" and "Alan Richman Is a Douchebag."



Medium Raw
by Anthony Bourdain


It is a wake-up call. We have forgotten the art of cutting an onion. If you know how to fuck, you should know how to make an omelet. Bourdain is looking at the culinary future of America, with the culinary arts replacing rock-&-roll as an outlet for pop-culture expression. Why start a band when it's way cooler to think of a catchy name and logo for a Thai-fusion chili hot-dog stand? That was my idea, but I'll be flattered if you steal it.


While admonishing future generations of cooks on the dos and do-nots of the industry, Anthony Bourdain still reminds us that he wouldn't be where he is if he hadn't fucked up so much himself.


The language is blunt and unapologetic because Anthony Bourdain delivers the straight dope. So if you are offended by strong language, don't buy this book. Chapters are short, sweet and catchy, like pretty much every song the Ramones ever wrote; and easy for busy people to read without feeling stuck in the middle of a chapter.


He's a big influence for the style of my blog; keeping it real rather than tailoring it for future employers: If you wanna say "fuck" or "fucktard" or any other derivation thereof, then fuck it. Anything else wouldn't be real writing.

Recycling Fairy - Toilet Paper Sucks

Apparently, I'm the new Magic Recycling Fairy at our hotel.

Some aspiring environmentally conscious member of the AM or PM crew decided to put all the empty bottles under the sink, where the Magic Recycling Fairy will come and take them away to Never Never Land. You know, where people never never do any actual recycling.

So, since I am the night guy, and I obviously have some time to keep a blog, I guess I can be the magic recycling fairy.

Speaking of which, I have to wonder exactly how environmentally evolved 4- and 5-star hotels have become. I'm currently at a 3-star, and we have very nice bathrooms... with ToIleT pAPErrr

Really, Japan is so far ahead of us. When I was in Japan, and I took a trip, I stayed at capsule-hotels, a hospitality phenomenon which has yet to hit the US (and I will make this happen). These capsule hotels are the cheap, low-end place to stay when you're in a crunch, and even they have bidets.

Bidets are cleaner, and they don't kill trees. Your ass will be absolutely shit-smear free. Whereas back in Uncle Sam Land, we still smear buttholes with ass-wipe; seriously, toilet paper has got to go. Just think of how many Americans are walking around with a halo of shit stain circumferencing their ani. That hot girl you saw on the street? Ya, she's a poopy-butt.

Japan is so far ahead in the game of recycling, thought, that I think all a huge country like America can do is give a depressing self-loathing shrug and think: "Hey, we're still cleaner than China."

And when I was in Shanghai last year, there were no restrooms in the subway; or they were just installing them at a couple of stops - and even those ones were the porta-potty out-house variety; kind of like "Honey Hole" which I see a lot of here in the Seattle.

If you are anywhere in Japan, and you need to take a dump or fizz a wizz, you do not need to worry; walk into any convenience store on any corner (except the red-light district of Osaka where too many drunks puke and piss all over the restrooms, so you can just go out in the alley).

In China? Forget it. A friend of mine saw a woman in the subway stand over to the far side of the platform, lift up her skirt, and pee into the tracks; whatcha gonna do? When you gotta go, you gotta go. And I thought America was better... Now it's me who has to tell random members of the public that they can't use our fancy hotel restroom. It's a real shame: We beat China in the sanitation department, but Japan still kicks our shit-stained ass.

And the toilet paper has to stop at the 3-stars. Any hotel that lacks bidets in every restroom has no right to the 4- or 5-star. Humans will soon look back and see toilet paper in the same way that we now see out-houses and holes in the ground. Toilet paper is uncivilized, primitive and just plain gross.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

PMS set-up at my hotel is DUMB

The hotel I currently work at has been open for only a couple of months. There are a few effed up flaws that get on my nerves.

First of all, the screens we use at the front desk were originally intended to be legible only to the front desk agents. The screens were built into the desk with a slant and a blinding-screen over the screen which supposedly makes the screen show nothing but a silver blur to the guests who are opposite the desk.

And... It doesn't work! The people opposite my screen can see everything!

For a few reasons, this situation sucks de-ox.
For one thing:
If a random stranger comes in and asks if Joe Shmo is in, we look up "Shmo" in the property management system, and the person opposite us can see (if he knows where to look) what room number Joe is in.
For another thing:
How am I supposed to charge walk-ins crazy fees if they can see what the default charge is? It's hard for me to say that a room is $209, when the computer shows $189 (or if you can read backwards and upside-down "681$")

When we first opened, and all we could see was a couple of square holes in the marble front desk, we were told that guests opposite the front-desk agents wouldn't be able to see the screen. But after installation, the only people who are blind to the screen are the front-desk agents to your left and right. Oops!!!

Not to mention our property management system which is full of flaws. WinPM. I thought it would be better than Jaguar, but such is not the case. They're both effed up. But I'll write about that in another post.

Monday, July 12, 2010

One-Liners for Shits & Giggles

So a guest is trying to order from the touch-screen, but he can't figure it out. He comes up to the cash register, and I tell him that I can take the order for him. He looks at me and asks:

"Why are you looking at me like I have two heads?"

My guess is that this guy has issues dealing with people, especially eye-contact. So I shift my glance 45 degrees, and repeat that I would happily take his order for him.

"That's a really strange response," he said. "I'm ordering food somewhere else."

It's really refreshing sometimes to meet someone who is aggressively insecure.

Honestly, how is anyone supposed to respond to something like that? This is really a point at which I could use a collection of one-liners that I've been collecting from people I meet here at the hotel; particularly the security guard and one of the other gallery hosts and part-time night auditor. So, here are some one-liners you can use when you don't know what to say.

[Warning - For shits and giggles only - other uses may result in loss of job and/or alienation from mere acquaintances]

1. "Your mom's a hooker."
2. "Do you know that nobody likes you?"
3. "Only after sex."
4. "Do you cry at night?"
5. "Use your fucking brains." (add frustration to taste)
6. "Them's fightin' words."
7. "Do you think your mom's wild in bed?"
8. "It's always the same with you."
9. "I thought we had already moved past this, [Name]."
10. "So you're that guy." or "So you're one of those."
11. "My therapist says you make withdrawals from my self-esteem account to fill your ego balloon." (add pain and self-pity to taste)
12. "It's the thought that counts."
13. "Are you mad at me, [Name]?" (add apathy to taste)

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Patrick, the Gay Black Janitor Man

There's this scam artist in our area whom I remember from my last hotel job. He always uses the same story:
"Hi, my name's Patrick. I'm the janitor at [any business next door]. I locked myself out, so I called the locksmith, and he wants 48 dollars, but I only got 43 dollars. Can you lend me $5 so I can pay the locksmith? I swear I'll be back tomorrow and pay you back." And he always ends with the final note that's designed to tug on white-guilt or straight-guilt or whatever: "I'm just a gay black man trying to make a livin'." I always tell him sorry there's nothing I can do, and he goes on his way. But a friend of mine gave him 8 bucks one time. Before my friend said anything else, I delivered the whole Patrick spiel and my friend was like, oh shit, I've been suckered.
So, I even remember this dude from my last hotel a half-mile away where he came by twice as the janitor for a hamburger joint and an Indian restaurant. WTF? The other night he comes into my new hotel, the security guard lets him in, and I'm like, "Patrick?" He didn't recognize me, I guess he does this stunt too much to remember faces. Anyways, Saint Patrick went on his way.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

What My Job Is

The cool thing about hotels is they're always hiring. It's a huge and growing industry. I was in Shanghai last year, and some world-record hotels were there; and the brand-newest of the brandest grandest newest. The Grand Hyatt, occupying both first and second place for the world's highest hotels was there. Holiday Inn was huge. And, of course, the Ritz Carlton where I brought my friend a prophetic cup of Egg Nog for Christmas, but I'll write about that some other time.
Industries may come and go as the world gets smaller and everything gets digitized, but hotels will always be around; you can't e-mail yourself to Shanghai and stay in the in-box.

Nevertheless, I predict that in a couple of decades there will be no more front desk agents.
There will definitely be housekeepers. There might be security guards. There might be day and night auditors.

First of all, we already have self-check-in/out kiosks, so guests can just pop in and out of the hotel vending-machine style. Second of all, in my experience, hotels cross-train employees to do multiple roles. Standing at the front and checking people in and out with a smile ain't cutting it anymore. At my last hotel, I did everything; I was the night auditor, front-desk agent, security guard, concierge, housekeeper and manager-on-duty from 11pm to 7am. At my current hotel, I've added bartender and 24-hour barista to these duties. There are three people on the graveyard shift at the new place: night auditor, security guard, houseman; and there are definitely some grey areas where we do each other's duties. A multi-role position like this might be the hospitality job of the future.

The security guard here recently summed his job up in a few words:

"My job is to keep people from bitching."

That goes for everyone in hospitality; keep guests from bitching, keep coworkers from bitching, keep management from bitching, and most of all, keep yourself from bitching. If the hotel's managed well, then we front-line people just need to keep the guests from bitching, and our supervisors' job would be to keep us from bitching. I've worked with managers who understood this and ones who didn't understand it. There is such a difference.

Thinking about it, to summarize my job, I'd say my job is to un-fuck stuff: un-fuck the previous shifts' oversights, inaccuracies, and general boo-boos; un-fuck the property management system's errors and hiccups; un-fuck noise complaints, maintenance issues and any other random calamities that may rear their head and belch on the hotel at night. It's my job to un-fuck all this and make sure the next day starts out "like a virgin" (to quote one of my favorite songs).

There are smooth nights with lots of downtime. Tonight's one of them, as you can tell. And then there are the "other nights", like the night when 15 drunken women came in at 3am:

"We want nachooooos!!! Pizzaaaa!" which resulted in the security guard and me in the kitchen trying to crank out mulitple orders of nachos and pizza and remembering to hold the jalapenos on one while making sure the antepenultimate order is meat-free; all while the houseman is up at the register trying to figure out which buttons to push on the already overly-complicated touch-screen. What a nightmare.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Bouncing is Mental Tekken

One of the more stressful parts of the night audit is playing the role of the bouncer. We lock the front doors at night, and guests should be able to come in with their keys. We get random members of the public who want to come in at 3 a.m. and use the restroom; and we get friends of guests asking to be let in. And we get guests whose cards have been demagnitized.

That's all fine and dandy; the thing that sucks butts is that the people are waiting there, staring at you on the other side of the glass doors, growing impatient and testy, so you have to be the bad guy while you verify their identity, or while you tell them to take a dump elsewhere, or while you call their friend's room to see if they are expecting company. After all, the doors are locked, and how do we know you didn't just find that key on the street and claim to be a guest with a demagnitized card?

To make matters worse, we communicate with them through an old-fashioned, almost unintelligible intercom system. We have to lean over and push "Talk" to speak to them, and often have communication problems. It's frustrating.

Sometimes, it can become like a battle of wills. The other day I had a visual epiphany that metaphorically wraps up the whole situation: It's like a martial-arts video game with a stamina bar to the far left and far right for each player. A while ago, a girl came with two girlfriends asking to see her brother in Room 511. They were standing there as if I would open the door for them at any minute. I searched our system while their impatient eyes rolled: No guests in room 511. "What was your brother's name?" I inquired.

"Well," she said, "it wasn't reserved under his name, so his name won't be on it." OK, so the only other thing I could think of was that her brother was at one of the other sister hotels in our city under the same flag. Still standing there, she asked for the phone numbers of those hotels. Now things were feeling really awkward. Here they were - standing at the door in protest. What could I do? I could have called out the phone numbers and info of our sister hotels over the clumsy intercom.

I couldn't take it. I pushed the door button, let them in, gave them the phone numbers and addresses of the two sister hotels, and they went on their merry way. At the same time, they were realizing that they could have just found this info on their phones. But when I chose not to open the door, common sense gave way to a battle of wills: They were gonna be a couple of bitches and FIGHT - Play Tekken with the Night Audit Man. They're a couple of drunk punks, dressed like skanky hos, and anyways, I shouldn't have let them in.

So, this was when the hotel was not even 30 days old, and I was still getting accustomed to not letting people in, which was hard when the PM shift would push the open button for any fucktard who walked up... which defeats the purpose of a locking door. But over time, I've become "meaner":

Just the other night, a group of nicely-dressed drunken girls came up to the door expecting me to push the open button - but I didn't. I motioned that they needed to use their card. Finally, one of them figured it out and swiped her card, opening the door. They came in and one of them made a sarcastic remark: "Thanks for letting us in; That was real nice." She was the one who was limping on the way to the elevator and probably almost puked in it, and I think I remember her or one of them wearing a plastic princess prom-night crown - and they were like, in their late 20's.



The fact is, the closed glass door and the intercom create this confrontational setting. It pisses people off, and it becomes a personal issue. If there was no way they could see me, it would be different. But they know that all I have to do is push the button, but I'm not doing that because I don't trust them. Why don't I trust them? Is it because it's hotel policy? Or is it because they look like skanky hos? More often than not, guests and general members of the public will take it personally when I don't just open the door and let them in. And I gotta deal with that.

This time, I screwed the pooch and let these dumb 20-somethings in. Who knows: They might have had 3 cans of pepper-spray and a desperate need to empty the cash register.


Later, talking to the security guard, I realized the best option would have been to print out directions to the sister hotel and have the security guard go out and hand it to them. Teamwork. That's what I'll do next time.


Afterwards, I had the video-game vision and realized that she, with all her impatient and testy attitude, had worn down my stamina. This won't happen again. Next time, I'm prepared to say everything over the crankety old intercom, maybe something like: "Google it, bitch." Then again, you never know, she might have been a VIP guest's sister at a sister hotel...

In my experience though, guests appreciate your security efforts in the long-term. They might be cranky and pissed that you have to look them up before opening the doors even though they're standing there with suitcases, but they'll sleep that night knowing how safe they are; and some of them will actually get pissed if you let them in without security measures, because that shows that you'll let anybody in.

So when the doors are locked, stick to the security rules, stick to your guns, don't let them wear down your stamina bar. Stamina is really the name of the game when your "bouncing" ends with the push of a button.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Vampire Health

Recently, I've been getting into vampire movies, maybe because they fit my sleeping schedule. The latest has been the "Twilight" trilogy. I thought it looked kind of like a "chick-flick" with an adventure-movie edge, and seeing as I love adventure movies, and have a soft-spot for romance films, I gave it a shot. I was not disappointed, and can't wait to see the third movie.

I've also started reading Joseph Campbell again, which coincides with this monster-movie craze, and kind of puts a more life-relevant view on it. Let's face it: All of us have monster sides. I think we've all heard of the zombies, who are the masses - people who basically live their lives with no passion, wasting away in front of a TV with idle addictions. I've found myself wondering since reading Campbell and watching vampire and werewolf flicks: What monster am I? And to answer this question, you don't want to limit yourself to werewolves and vampires. You gotta really do research. Here's a list of monsters I found. I've never heard of the wibbly-woo. Apparently, it's a bovine monster with flexible limbs. So, if you like to eat grass and do yoga, you might be a wibbly-woo.

Summoning the monster within is healthy. I've heard scientific studies that suggest that people who work nights have shorter life-spans. But vampires live hundreds of years. I've always compared people who work out regularly to vampires, because there are concrete physical and chemical changes that occur in your entire body and especially in your brain. Aside from my #1 "professional hobby" of mambo, I have to join the gym again and retap the monster within. Luckily, we have a 24-hour fitness center downtown. Working the night audit, one must stay healthy.