Sensitive Sleepers

Every once in a while we get "sensitive sleepers" staying at the hotel. These are guests that come in and demand the quietest room in the hotel as if they believe there is some sort of hyperbolic sound chamber we have reserved for people like them. I've had guests check in to the hotel and lay in the beds of 6 different rooms to check hear which one is quieter.

This guest would say things like "No I can't sleep in this room, I can hear the fan from that building down the block."

No matter what room we give them they still come down and complain about some sort of disturbance the next morning. "The garbage trucks woke me up this morning, I should get a free breakfast for the inconvenience." I feel like saying to them "Oh really, I'm so sorry. We'll be sure to call the sanitation department and stop all garbage collection on the block because you are a light sleeper and you are visiting the city that never sleeps." Or "Well you can call 311, ask for Mayor Bloomberg and see what he has to say about your inconvenience."

Let me say this clearly, if you are a light sleeper stay the fuck out of New York City! If you do have to come here, don't complain about the noises of the city to the people who can't do anything about it. We are happy to move you to a higher floor but we can't do anything about the sounds of the fans in our building or any others. We can't stop construction on the street and we can't appease you because you lost an hour sleep due to the way the city you chose to visit operates.

Get real and take an Ambien!

Teaching to tip

The other day I went up to a guest's room for a luggage down call. For those of you who are not familiar with industry speak, "luggage down" means a guest needs a bellman to go up to their room with a cart and collect their bags and bring them to the lobby to either store the bags for the day or load them up in a town car/taxi for them.  It's very common and is a great way to earn a good tip.

I arrived at the door and gave my patented, syncopated knock followed by my "bellman at the door!" greeting. The door swung open and I found myself gazing into the hallway of one of our double rooms with a family of four frantically trying to get ready. They were very nice people and even helped me load the luggage onto my cart. "Will you be needing to store these bags for the day or shall I go downstairs and hail you a taxi?" I asked.

"We will need to store them, our flight isn't until later tonight." The mother responded.

"No problem at all." I said with a bright smile on my face as I pulled my stash of luggage tags out of my back pocket. I counted up the number of bags on the and wrote the figure on the luggage ticket, tore off the ticket along the perforated edge and looked up to hand the ticket to the mother. It was then that I realized the younger of their two boys was standing in the hallway with tip money in his hand.

"Well here you are young man, just hand this ticket back to one of the bellman upon your return to the hotel and we will be happy to take your luggage back out for you." I said and as I handed him the ticket he handed me five $1 bills. "Thank you very much young man, it is much appreciated." He smiled as he realized he had performed the American custom perfectly. "Have a wonderful day exploring our city, we will see you when you get back."

I exited the room and headed towards the elevators to return to the lobby. While waiting for the elevator to arrive, a thought occurred to me. This was not the first time that I had received a tip from a child. Often times cheap parents will have their kids give people in the service industries bad tips because they know their children are less likely to receive bad looks for shitty tips (or shitty looks for bad tips.) However, in this instance the tip was decent and I realized that young boy just got his first lesson in tipping.

I think half the time that Europeans don't tip it's because they have no idea how to. They don't know the proper etiquette because their parents never showed them how to. They don't know how much to tip because their parents never taught them that you tip $1-$2 per bag or 20% of a restaurant bill. When I left that room that young boy may have asked his parents "Why did I give that man money?"

"Well honey," I'm sure his parents would respond, "that man performed a service for us and in America it is customary to tip for services provided."

"Well why did I tip him $5?" the boy might have asked.

"We had him store 5 of our bags so I gave him $1 per bag. When we come back later, I will have you tip the gentleman that retrieves our bags another $5. This is what we call tipping etiquette son."

So to any parents out there that may read this, teach your children how to tip properly. It is a life long lesson that they will use on a daily basis (so long as they live in America.) 

Welcome Back!

Welcome back to my readers! I apologize for the month long hiatus, but I took August off to travel and to see family (paid vacations are a beautiful perk of a unionized job.) While I was away I didn't feel like thinking about my job as a bellman very much. However, traveling and staying in hotels while away gave me incredible insight to the hotel industry. When you assume the role of the guest, it's amazing how differently you see hotels as opposed to being the worker.

But now I'm back baby, and the stories from my travels and my years at the job in Times Square shall continue! Please stay tuned and tell all your friends, the BK Bellman will continue to blog!

Cabbie Con-man!

Let me tell you a little story about a cabbie (who looked like the guys pictured below) and who drove a cab that looked like the one to the right.

It was in the early evening and a cab pulled up to the loading zone of the hotel. I approached the cab, opened the door and said my customary "Welcome to R&B Hotels and welcome to New Y.....). Before I could even finish I could tell that this women was in an arguement with her taxi driver. Based on the standard "$50.35" on the meter, I could tell that this woman came directly from JFK.

As I listened in on the conversation I heard "but I don't have any cash" she said. "This is the only way I can pay you."

"No! You need cash!" The cabbie shouted. "Credit card machine broken, only cash!"

Now, before I can continue, I need to give you a little back story on the history of the Taxi and Limosine Commission (TLC) and the city of New York City and the cabbies caught in the middle. About 5-10 years ago, Mayor Bloomberg made it mandatory that all taxi cabs be equipped with credit card machines. The cab drivers Union was not happy about the law since all fares paid by credit card would be reported income and subject to taxation by the city and by the state. They put up a big fuss about it to the day, many of them still try to collect only cash for their fares. As a rule of thumb, I only pay cab drivers in cash. It's just one less problem I will have to deal with during the course of my cab ride to Brooklyn. (They don't like going to outer bouroughs either.)

Here is a FAQ from the NYC TLC website regarding this issue:
Is a driver allowed to refuse to let a passenger use his/her credit/debit card?
No. In vehicles equipped with technology systems drivers are required to accept American Express, MasterCard, VISA and Discover (and some will accept the JCB Card) for all fares. The driver must accept credit/debit cards for any fare amount.  If a driver claims the credit card system is broken and/or prevents a passenger from using their credit/debit card, please report the medallion number to the TLC by calling 311.

For a brief period of time, (during a suspension for questionable conduct) my co-worker and friend Willie Bass drove a cab to make his income. One day he was hanging out across the street waiting for an airport run, I went over to him and had a little chat. He told me about how cab drivers scam tourists for cash fares. When the cabbie and his passenger(s) arrive at their destination, the driver needs to press a button to prompt the screen in the back seat to display payment options. Now, once that screen is prompted, the driver then presses another button that tells his CPU that the passengers wish to pay cash. If the driver presses that second button, the passengers can swipe their credit card all they want, the CPU will still be waiting for a cash payment.

The cabbies then say, "Oh, my credit card machine is broken, you need to pay cash." Or they say, "The system is down, you need to pay cash." When a cab driver says this, I know they are full of shit. There is no way the garage would let a car leave for a shift if there was anything wrong with the credit card machine. In addition, the cabbie's "system" is interconnected. If the system is down in one cab, the system would then have to be down in all 13,000+ cabs across the city.

The cab driver then will start pressing buttons on the meter to further prove his point that he can't accept credit cards but if you look closely, there is one button he won't press and that is the button that prompts the screen in the back seat to allow the credit card option to display.

Anyway, I think you have enough background on the issue at hand. As I realized what was going on, I approached the cabbie at the passenger side door. "Yo man, what's the problem here?" I asked politely.

"Credit card not working, she need to pay cash. See?" He shows me as he starts pressing 3 out of the 4 buttons on his meter repeatedly.

"Yeah? Well why don't you press that button right there?" I say pointing to the 4th illusive button.

Realizing that I'm in the know on this issue, he looks at me with disbelief and then states "You get outta here, this is not your business."

"Well this woman in the back is a guest at my hotel so I guess it is my business." I fire back. "Look, she doesn't have any cash. Press that button and let her pay you. If you don't then she can't pay you. I'm trying to help you get paid."

At this point he has no interest in listening to logic. It seems he is more interested in sticking to his guns rather than accepting a payment that will get taxed.

"No! This is none of your business!!" He comes back. "The machine is broken! She needs to pay cash!! If you don't get out of here, I'm going to call the police!"

"Well I work here so I can't go anywhere." I state. "Go ahead and call the cops if you want."

To this he pulls out his cell phone and begins making calls. I give him a long glare before I turn to our guest in the back seat. "Look ma'am, I don't know what you want to do. If I were you, I would just leave and not pay him at all."

"I'm in a big rush." She says. "I just want to pay him and get up to my room. Where is the closest BofA ATM?"

"It's just half a block down there on the corner." I reply.

She heads down to the corner as I head inside and the cab driver continues to play around on his iPhone. I head to the back office behind the front desk and find the MOD Michelle working at her computer.

"Hey Michelle I just think you should know there is a cab driver outside who is calling the cops on me."

"WHAT???" She exclaims. "Why??"

"He told a guest she couldn't pay with credit card and I said he was full of shit to and he got mad and said he was going to call the cops." I explained. "The guest is getting cash at the ATM right now. I've got to go deliver some bags to a room, I'll be back down in a minute."

As I leave to go deliver bags, Michelle goes to the front of the hotel and approaches the cab driver sitting in the drivers seat on his phone.

"What the hell is going on man?" She asks. Michelle was born and raised in the Bronx. She's been dealing with asshole cab drivers since she was 5 years old, she knows how to handle them.

"Your doorman threatened to hit me and steal my phone and my money!" The cab driver shouted.

"My doorman makes way more than you do, he doesn't need your money. He's got the same phone as you so he doesn't need your phone either. Why won't you accept the credit card?"

"I'm calling the police!" The cabbie exclaims.

"You know what?" Michelle responds. "Don't bother. I'm gonna go find a cop and bring him here." With that she trudges off into Times Sq. looking for one of our boys in blue.

In the end, the guest came back and paid the cabbie in cash. A few minutes later, Michelle returned with a cop who spoke to the taxi driver and convinced him to leave and not to pursue any legal action and told me he was sorry I had to deal with the guy but that getting him to leave was far better than having anything more to do with him. I agreed, thanked him and shook his hand. Later on that evening I saw the guest return from her night out. She instantly recognized me.

"Thank you so much for sticking up for me earlier" she said as she handed me a tip. "Sorry I didn't tip you earlier but I was in such a big rush."

"No problem whatsoever" I replied. "I can't stand cabbies like that so I just couldn't let it go."

As she walked away I looked down at the tip in my hand.

"$3?" I said to myself. "For all that I get $3? Really?"

Oh well, that's the life of a Bellman!

Willie Bass!

So I work with this cat who calls himself Willie Bass. Willie Bass is a Puerto Rican man in his mid 40's who has been born and raised in the Bronx. He smokes a pack of Newports a day, at least a gram of weed a day and has a deep and raspy voice that sounds exactly like the Kool-Aid Man. In fact, for a period of time in the 90's, he actually landed a contract to be the voice of the Kool-Aid Man and recorded several commercials that aired nationally. This was before he was the road manager for C&C Music Factory. 

Basically the guy is hilarious and it's always a pleasure getting to work with him and listen to his stories about growing up in New York and being on the road with C&C. There was also a period in time when he was the personal driver for Jerry Seinfeld. I am convinced that should he ever decide to write his memoirs, it will be a national best seller! The guy can tell you stories and make you laugh for 8 hours straight. I know this for a fact!

Anyway, one summer day about two years ago, Willie Bass and I were busy outside working on the streets of Times Sq. I was unloading bags out of the back of a car that had just arrived and Willie was in the street hailing a cab by whistling his famous ear piercing whistle. The girls from the front desk were pestering us on the radio to come inside because people needed to retrieve their luggage inside.

"I copy that" I say. "We are both busy outside, we will be inside in just a moment. Copy?"

No response from the front desk. The front desk agents at our hotel use the 2-way radio as a 1-way radio. They keep the radios on but with the volume all the way down so we can hear them but they can't hear us.

"Bellman, we need help with luggage retrieval at the desk." Natasha at the front desk says.

"COPY!" I say, very frustrated. "Give us a minute!!"

Just then, as I hand the valet ticket to the couple that just arrived and invite them to go check in at the front desk, a cab comes speeding down the street. As he inches closer to the hotel I notice that he is getting very close to Willie Bass who is still trying to find a vacant cab for our other guests. The cab pulls in so fast and close that he runs over Willie's foot.

"Awwww Shit!" Willie exclaims! "That cabbie just ran me down! Make sure he don't go nowhere!!!" 

A middle eastern man in a Turban hops out of the driver side door and runs over to Willie. He says to him in a thick accent:

"What were you doing in the middle of the street? This is your fault!"

"Fuck you man!" Willie shoots right back. "You ran over my foot, how am I gonna make my money now man? I'm gonna sue your middle eastern ass!"

The cabbie suddenly becomes very defensive. "NO! It's OK. Here take my moneys, don't sue, don't sue!"

By this time Willie has dragged himself over to the curb of the hotel and is sitting on it while lighting up a Newport and unlacing his shoe.

"What? I got money motherfucka" he says pulling a wad of his tips for the day out of his right pocket. "I don't need your dirty money, it's the principle of the matter! I'm gonna take you down!"

By this time security has come out of the building and I quickly escort the guests away from the scene of the accident and inside to our air-conditioned lobby. Police reports were filed and Willie took a little time off of work to rehab his foot. He got a settlement from the cab company about a year later but it was only for like $5,000. 

I got a great story out of the whole scenario. I will never forget that day for as long as I live!

The Polar Bear!

As of this very minute, we have a guest staying at our hotel who is BAT SHIT FUCKING CRAZY!!!

She is British, however she claims that she was forced out of Europe by the Italian government. I know she is very wealthy because she wears a $20,000 Rolex and comes down into our lobby everyday with a different Chanel handbag. She gives $20 to anybody who is willing to listen to her mindless, bi-polar ramblings for more than 5 minutes. However to me, the $20 is not worth dealing with the craziness.

On her first day in New York, she came into the hotel crying uncontrollably because someone bumped into  her on the streets of Times Square. Then, last night she asked me to get her a cab that would "not speak to her at all or else she would just lose it." I found a cab driver and explained to him, "look man, this lady is fucking CRAZY! If you can get her to 33rd st. and 8th avenue without saying a word she will gladly pay you the fare and probably give you a nice tip." He agreed and within five minutes she was storming back in to the hotel, furious, at me no less.

"You need to find me a better cab driver, that guy was a nightmare!" She said to me. "I forgot my wallet and my purse in my room and he wasn't willing to drive me there. Find me a better cab when I come down!"

"OK" I said dumbfounded. "I will find you better driver." I ended up just putting her in the first cab I could find and wished him the best of luck. No matter what gets done for this woman, she will find something wrong with it.

This morning as I was arriving into work, I come to find out that she has been crying in the restaurant talking about how horrible the world has become and screaming about how today was the anniversary of the London subway bombings. I ended up hiding in the locker room until I found out that she had left the building for the day.

As the day progressed more and more of my co-workers told stories of how her craziness had affected them during her brief stay with us. We nick named her "The Polar Bear" on account of her violent, bi-polar mood swings. On our radios "Code Polar Bear" means she is arriving and to run for cover if you don't want to be yelled at for 20 minutes. A more competent management team would realize what a nuisance this woman is and ask her to leave the hotel.  However, since our management team is completely clueless, I get the benefit of witnessing this mountain of pure gold writing material unveil it's fruits to me first hand.

I have the next two days off but I work the morning shift on Sunday when she is scheduled to check out. Personally, I hope she stays forever. I could write a fucking book based only on the crazy shit this woman says!

My life as a tipper: Part 2

This brings me to hotels, my field of expertise. About 95% of all New York City hotels are unionized under LOCAL 6. The union contract states that any position deemed “a tipped position” (i.e. Waiter, Doorman, Bellman, Valet, Banquet Server, Room Service Attendant) is to be paid 50% of what non-tipped employees such as Engineers, Housekeepers or Security receive as their hourly wage. I get paid under $13 an hour. My weekly check for wages doesn't amount to much over $1,000 (after taxes) per month, which doesn't even cover my half of my rent! (Taxes are extreme if you work in the city limits, not to mention a pack of cigarettes is $15 and a six-pack of beer costs you about the same.) I depend on tips to pay my bills. A non-tipped employee makes over $25 per hour and cashes out at about $3,500 per month after taxes. Not too bad!

A lot of people (normally foreigners) look at this and say (in thick accents) "Aw that’s just bloody awful! Your hotel is cheating you and it shouldn't come upon me to make up for the money they are saving by not paying you a living wage."

"Look sir," I always reply. "This is America, tipping is a standard practice here. Because of that our industries laws have adjusted to that. I didn't make the rules about tipping and how businesses treat their employees here in the U.S., I'm just living with them. If you have a problem with the practice of tipping properly, maybe you shouldn’t have chosen to vacation here. Maybe you should have stayed in Europe.”(Or Asia, or Australia, or etc....)

When it comes to tipping at hotels, I will break it down by job classification.

For Housekeepers, when I check out of my room, I will usually leave a few dollars. If I stayed for an extended period of time and required them to clean the room several times, I will leave a little more. Please remember, in a union house, they are getting paid maximum wages and don't rely on tips to pay their bills. Same goes for anyone who comes to your room to bring you a coffee maker, an extra luggage rack or fresh towels. Whatever singles you have would be appreciated for the effort. Typically, anyone who brings something to your room is getting paid a runners fee of about $2 that will get added to their checks (and taxed.) Leave these folks a little something extra for the effort, but don’t stress too much about it.

Room Service Waiters are also not ones to be extremely generous with. Almost every hotel I know of adds an 18% gratuity to a room service bill as well as a $2-3 delivery fee of which the server typically receives 50%. However, look closely at your bill. If you don't see these charges, you better pay the man.

Now we get to Front of the House Staff. I feel as if I have a PhD in the ways of front of the house hotel tipping etiquette. When I stay at a hotel, I typically aim on spending $20 on tips upon check in, about $30 upon check out. I also feel I am quite biased since I consider them "my people" and tend to over tip them. Depending on whether you drive in or take a taxi you will either be greeted by a valet or a doorman. If it's a valet, give him the keys with a $3-5 tip while the doorman unloads your luggage from the back of the car onto a luggage cart. Don't be an asshole and say that you don't want help. The classic line is, "Oh, we've got it." Or, "don't worry about it, our luggage has wheels."  The doorman is there to do the job of welcoming you to the hotel and taking care of you during your stay. Don't insult him by not allowing him to do the job he is there to do just so you don't have to tip him. He will help you inside and get you to the front desk to start checking in and pass you off to the bellman. For this I will typically tip $5-10 dollars depending on whether or not there was a valet and depending on how much luggage I have.  

Now once I get checked in, I typically don't tip the front desk agent. Once again, they are most likely getting paid full-scale wages and are not relying on tips. If the person behind the front desk gives me a room upgrade from a king to a suite just because they have suites available, I will definitely give them a little extra for making my stay more enjoyable. 

As for the bellman, I will typically tip this guy anywhere from $10-$20. If this guy is personable, smiles a lot and gives me a lot of valuable information, I hook him up. A lot of people ask me how much they should tip a bellman. My typical response is "Well, don't you think that you are going to get a biased answer from a bellman you are about to tip?" just to break the ice a little. "Tipping a bellman is entirely based on the quality of service you receive, the amount of luggage you have, and how much your luggage weighs." Is my professional response.  

"If you want a mathematical way of approaching tipping bellmen," I continue to the clueless guest, "you should tip $1 per computer bag, backpack or purse, $2 per suit case or large duffel bag and $5 per box or cooler that you have with you. If you want to get very specific, how about tipping $.10 per pound or $.25 per kilogram on the overall weight of the luggage." If your bag weighs 80lbs, you should tip $8 for it, plain and simple. You can't afford that? Don't pack so much!

As for doormen who get you cabs, I will typically tip $2-5. I give just a little something to say thank you for the effort. To my surprise, I have been tipped $20 before just for hailing a taxi. It sure was nice, but I would never expect that from a guest for simply hailing a taxi.

If you follow my standards of tipping while staying at a (NYC) hotel you will probably tip somewhere between $50-$100 from the time you check in to the time we load all your luggage in the trunk of a cab going to the airport. All in all, your tips should end up being around 10%-20% of your final hotel bill. If you can’t afford that much to take care of the employees who work at the hotel, maybe you should find a hotel that’s about 10%-20% cheaper. Same principle applies to restaurants, if you can’t afford to eat at the Outback Steak House and tip your server; maybe you should head down to Wendy’s.

Anyway, I hope I've cleared things up for anybody wondering proper American tipping etiquette. Any questions? Fire away!!

I think all management is clueless!

Yesterday I was at work and I saw one of my former co-workers coming out of the cuban restaurant next door to the hotel. Now, for the life of me I could not remember this guy's name but I recognized him instantly and he recognized me. After waiving to one another he started walking towards me and we shook hands and asked one another how each other was doing.

Where you working these days?" I asked.

"I work the front desk just down the street at the Stay Hotel." He asked.

"Oh yeah? I said. "I heard it's nice there. What's it like working there?"

"It's OK I guess." Was his reply.  "How about you? How's work here going?."

"It's totally fucked here man." I stated coldly. I don't think anybody here really knows what the fuck they are doing. It's like the blind leading the blind. I have no confidence in any of my managers or co-workers for that matter. It's amazing we get good reviews online. I honestly don't know how we keep it all together."

"Same thing at the Stay man" he says while nodding in agreement. "Nobody has a clue."

"Really? That's comforting to here. I'd love to work at the Four Seasons or the Mandarin Oriental so I could know what a REAL hotel functions like." I said envisioning a happy hotel work environment where employees are liked by their managers and co-workers and all employees respect their managers because they are fair and have been trained properly by a competent corporate office.

"I don't think it would make any difference" he said quickly shattering the Beaver Cleaver-like work environment I was envisioning.

"Why is that?" I asked inquisitively.

"I think all management is clueless in every industry across the world. Take a look at the Wall St. crisis for God's Sake." He continued to carefully explain himself. All businesses are run by people and all people are by definition, imperfect. Businesses are built upon human relationships which are by and large, very confusing. Corruption, favoritism, resentment, bad decision making; these are all common traits that define human relationships. Whether you are at the Waldorf Astoria or the Best Western downtown, you are going to be disapointed in your leadership because they will always let you down simply by being human."

"That's a very interesting point." I say

Looking into the lobby of the hotel he asks "who's working behind the front desk today? Is that Natasha?"

"Yeah, unfortunately." I reply. "That one is the worst of them all."

"I'm gonna go in there and kick some game, hopefully I'll be able to hit that soon." He says.

"I'd wish you good luck but I don't think you'll need it." I say.  "Bagging that girl is about as easy as a game of 'Whack-a-mole."

As he went inside I found myself thinking a lot about the words we exchanged. I've often dreamt about leaving R&B hotels to find someplace with a more competent management staff. However, high seniority, a comfortable schedule and undeclared cash tips always leave me where I am. Listening to one of my former co-workers talk about how incompetence runs rampant across our industry and the world at large, leaves me with happy feeling.

My life as a tipper: Part I

So far I've written a whole lot about my life being a tipped employee so now I want to talk a little about my life as a tipping customer. I’m going to put myself under the microscope as it were. Now, let me just give you a little history about my upbringing as a tipper.

I was raised in restaurants. From the age of 8 to 18 my parents owned a nice café called "Stevie’s" on the main street of a small town in the Pacific Northwest. "Stevie's" served wonderful, high quality sandwiches during the day and fantastic, homemade pasta and sauces at night. Prior to opening "Stevie’s," my dad was an executive chef and my mom managed the front of the house of several restaurants. I was always the little kid you see in the back corner of the restaurant scribbling in coloring books or playing with a Transformer. Sometimes I would get to hang out in my dad’s office and play on the computer but since this was 1985, computer games weren’t much more entertaining than a coloring book.

At about 5 my parents put me to work just to keep me busy. By the time I was 9, I was working the lunch shift at "Stevie’s." I could work the register, make milk shakes, bus tables, wash dishes, make salads, shit, I even worked the grill sometimes. I guess you could say I learned the value of an honest days work at a young age. There weren't a whole lot of tips coming out of "Stevie’s" so I never really considered them as part of my income.

When I was in college, the restaurant industry was an easy job to get since I had so much experience. I started out bussing tables and by the time I got my degree, I had also graduated to server. Since I had earned a Bachelor of Arts degree with a major in French, there weren't a whole lot of job openings seats when I graduated. Apparently French speakers aren’t in high demand in the current U.S. job market. Besides, I was a musician. I didn't want a 9-5 job. I wanted a flexible schedule and quick easy cash so I could make rehearsals and gigs. Say what you will about waiting tables but quick easy cash and flexible schedules are the two things waiting tables is good for.

I eventually got a job as a banquet server (in which all money is made off of the 18% gratuity added to all large checks in the U.S. to ensure nobody is ever stiffed on a party of more than 6) at the Seattle property of my current company, which made it easy to get my current job as a bellman upon moving to New York City. Basically since college, I have been in a tipped position. In turn, as far back as I can remember, I have been a good tipper.

Since I was a child, I was taught that you tip a Waiter 15-20% based on the quality of service. These days I tip between 10-30% but I typically rest at a solid 20%. When I do tip, I tip in cash since learning about how little restaurants pay their employees and how badly server's tips get taxed. Leaving a tip on a credit card means that your server will only see about 75% of that gratuity. I'd like to think I'm a good tipper, at least in the top 10%. 

That being said, if you fuck up my experience at your restaurant, I will let my tip do the talking for how I felt about your service. I know how to wait tables and I know the industry. If the restaurant is full and you have a lot of tables, I understand the feeling of "being in the weeds" and will grant you a large margin of error. I don't expect flawless service when you are exuberantly busy. I will allow for extra time to get my food and get checked up on and still tip a good 20% if you made every effort you could. However, if the restaurant is empty and you are forgetting things or copping an attitude with me when I ask for small things like sides of mayo, I'm gonna tip 10%. I know the difference between someone who is busy and overwhelmed and someone who is just being a cranky bitch (or jerkoff depending on gender.) I will never stiff a waiter unless they have offended me beyond belief.

It wasn't until I got to New York that I really learned how to tip in other facets of life. For example, I tip NYC Cabbies about 10% of the fare. If they are nice, their cab is clean and they don't complain about having to take me to Brooklyn or lock all their doors and ask me where I am going first, I will probably tip 20%. However, most cabbies in this city are ETREME ASSHOLES and will either be coarse and rude when you tell them where you are going or talk on their phones in a language you don't understand the whole way (or both) and to me, that is not worth more than a dollar or two of compensation for their efforts. In addition, if your cab isn't clean and smells like B.O, that doesn't really help your chance for extra money. 

Working as a Doorman on the streets of New York City, I deal with the cabbies of this town every day and let me tell you, they are a special bunch. Of course there is always exceptions to the rule. I have met some very genuinely good guys who drive cabs over the years. But, for the most part, they are self serving, greedy people who are on a lack of sleep, too much caffeine in their system and have been sitting in New York city traffic for the better part of 12 hours. Would you believe me if I told you that one time I caught a cab driver shitting and pissing in a jar in the back seat of his taxi? It’s true! I told him all he had to do was ask and I’d let him use our bathroom. Better that than him using our loading zone as a port-a-potty! Cabbies are not the best people to have to work with. I’ll go further into depth on my relationships with NYC cabbies at a later date.

In New York, ordering take out is a huge part of a restaurants business so every business has a Delivery Guy. Now these are the most shit upon tipped employees in all of New York, perhaps the world! I take pity on these guys and normally tip them about 20%. Most of these workers are illegal immigrants or at the very least, employees whose English skills aren’t strong enough to actually work in the restaurant. They may not wait on you and use their charm and wit to make you smile like a server in a restaurant does, nor do they clean up after you when you are done. However, these guys risk life and limb riding their bikes or mopeds through New York City traffic to bring you the food you are too lazy to go pick up yourself. Same thing goes for grocery, cigarette, weed or beer delivery guys (all of which exist in the greater New York area.) Oh yeah, if you order delivery during a fucking rain storm, tip the guy an extra 10% on top of what you normally tip him. How much would you want to get paid to deliver someone’s food to them in the middle of a rainstorm? It goes for getting a taxi in the rain as well. (See earlier blog post “Is it hard to get a cab?”

NYC Bartenders, tip them $1 per drink. If they comp drinks for you or buy you a shot, you better take good care of 'em!

That concludes part I of the series of my life as a tipper. Be sure to stay tuned for my next lesson: "Tipping while at Hotels!"

Cheap CEO

Now, it comes with the territory in my line of work that you have to deal with some pretty cheap people on a daily basis.  Sometimes the cheapest people you deal with, are the ones with the most money. For instance, my friend used to work at a upscale hotel in Midtown and Dwight Freeney of the Indianapolis Colts was staying at the hotel. During his stay Mr. Freeney requested a very rare and expensive bottle of tequila be sent to his room.  Knowing this man was a V.I.P.  the hotel managers made several calls and finally located a bottle of the rare agave drink in a liquor store the lower east side. They called the football player to let them know they had located a bottle of the tequila in the city and that it would be comped and delivered to his room within the hour. They gave a bellman money for the bottle and cab fare and sent him downtown to go pick it up. About a half hour later he returned with the bottle and delivered it the the defensive lineman's suite. The mammoth athlete arrived at the door with and accepted the bottle from the bellman with a thank you and a $3 tip!!!

A $3 TIP!!!!!! This is a guy who signed a 6 year, $72 million contract in 2007 with a $30 million signing bonus. Now I'm sure taxes are a bitch but I'm also pretty sure that a guy making $12 million a year can afford more than a $3 tip. I have found that professional athletes, for the most part, are pretty bad tippers considering the money that they make. This story of a cheap NFL athlete, while shocking and absurd, has nothing on what happened to me last week.

At the Times Square Marriot Marquis last week, there was a big convention for hospitality industry.  All the big wigs of the hotel business throughout the country were in town, including the CEO from my company's home office in San Francisco. The man is know as Leon Khackiss and after a week of free hotel rooms and comped meals in New York City, it was time for this mogul of business (who I happen to know for a fact makes an easy 7 figures a year) to check out of his hotel room. My "kiss ass" of a general manager, Rufus Benniss, arranged for a beautiful 2011 cranberry colored Masarati to pick him up and take him to the airport.  As the car arrived with his name in the passenger side window, Mr. Khackiss was shocked and surprised at the ride. He had no idea that my GM had set it up and thanked me for arranging the car.  Since I didn't have any knowledge at the time that Rufus had arranged for the car either, I took credit for it.

"Wow, what a beautiful car." Leon said with a big smile on his face. "Thank you so much Dylan."

"No problem Mr. Khackiss sir." I said back to him. "I'm glad we could send you back home in style."

As I open the door for him, my co-worker Soo-Soo grabs his bags and puts them in the trunk. Leon pulls out his wallet and as he flips through several $20 and $100 bills,  he stops and pulls out two $1 bills and says to us:

"I know it's very meek. I know it's very meager, but spread the wealth." As he says this he takes one of the bills in each hand and gives it to each one of us individually. As we accept the shitty tips with a look of shock on our faces, he hops in his free Masarati to head back to his beautiful home in the bay area.

Now, let's just analyze the situation for a second.  This man is the CEO of a major hotel company. He makes over a million dollars each year, plus bonuses, and stays at all of his properties for free.  His meals are comped as are his rides to and from the airport. I'm pretty sure his airplane tickets are free also (or at least tax deductible.) The only expenses he incurs on these business trips are personal shopping and tips. To top it off, we are HIS employees! He is making upwards of 25x my annual income and he can't even take care of his own people. It's not like $10-$20 would send his life into a tailspin. He is familiar with the industry and knows damn well that tipped employees get paid less than all other employees at the hotel. In addition, he knows damn well how fucking expensive it is to live in a city like New York.  He must have some sort of concept that the doormen and bellmen who work at every hotel of his depend on tips to pay their rent and buy their groceries (and drugs and alcohol as well.)

I can tolerate a European man giving me a dollar for bringing his family to their rooms when they check in or for grabbing them a taxi and loading up their bags when they check out because they simply don't know any better. However, for the CEO of of my hotel's corporate office to tip $1 is so fucking insulting that I don't even know how to fully express my frustration. I hope I've done a semi-decent job of it here.

I hope someone out there feels my pain! 

Tipping Rules (Stolen)

While searching online yesterday for more people who are doing blogs similar to mine I stumbled across this web page: Tips

This page has several pages for all sorts of service industry employees but I found myself reading the following and laughing my ass off about it:

 Lets start with some basics for the beginners:

• The Bellman IS the most important staff member in any hotel. The bellman has the ability to make or break your stay, making it either enjoyable, or a living hell. How you tip him/her is tantamount to the outcome of your stay.
• If you carry your own bags when you stay at a hotel, you are a loser. You probably went out and bought suitcases with wheels on them just just you wouldn't have to part with a few precious dollars as a tip to a bellman. Many Hotel's Bellstaff's are currently installing small devices in the floors of their lobby that will melt any and all suitcase wheels that pass over them. So you better use a bellman any way before those cute little wheels become a black smear on my lobby floor. I wouldn't want to have to bother housekeeping with cleaning up your ignorance.
• Don't even bother to ask if you can borrow a Bellman's cart. This is comparable to approaching a Taxi driver, telling him you need a ride to the airport, and when the driver says "hop in", you say "No, I just wanted to borrow your car". See the similarities? If you borrow MY cart, how the fuck am I supposed to make any money? Get a clue.
• Don't make the assumption that just because we're polite to you means that we like you. Its our job to suck up to schmucks like you because we works for tips. Nothing is worse than sucking up to real loser upon check-in, working your ass off, only to receive a ONE DOLLAR TIP! That will NOT help me make my Mortgage payment this month.
• If your room is not ready upon check-in, and you wish us to store your bags, TIP US! You should tip your Bellman EVERY TIME he touches your bags. We like to rummage through the bags of non-tippers to see EXACTLY what you might be carrying in your luggage. Don't even think about locks, I haven't met one that will hold up to a sturdy paperclip.

Now, this guy may be a little abrasive and not really ground in reality but he makes some good points don't you think? To read more (including a bellman tip sheet) please visit bellman tips.

That's all, just thought I'd share! And if there are anymore of you service employee bloggers out there, make yourself known. I will most definitely put you on my blogroll!

Little Helpers

Yesterday one of the housekeeping managers was called into work on her day off.  She had no where to bring her daughters so she brought them to the hotel and left them in the care of the hostess at the restaurant.  After pizza, french fries a couple sliders and an hour or so of coloring in their coloring book, the young girls started to get restless and run around the restaurant with reckless abandon. The restaurant was closed for lunch so the children's energy wasn't affecting any of the guests. Who it was affecting was the hostess who still had the task of taking room service orders and setting up the complimentary iced tea that the hotel offers for free during the summer time.

Mallory, the hostess, was starting to get a little too busy and she couldn't keep up with the girls for much longer. It was about 1:30, one of the slowest times of day, so I decided that I would intervene. I like kids and I enjoy playing with them so long as I don't have to make them feel better when they start crying.  I started out by offering the 3 and 5 year olds rides on the bell cart around the lobby. They soon grew tired of these and wanted to ride on the cart in the elevator.  I needed to deliver bags to one of the rooms of our regulars who was still at the office so I figured they could come with me.

I loaded up our regular's bags on the cart and told them to hop on. We got off the elevator and I dragged the cart full of luggage and children towards the suite. As soon as I opened the door the kids hopped off the cart and went running around the suite. I unloaded the bags and set them up on luggage racks in the room. The girls tried to help but the bags were way to heavy for them and couldn't even lift them off the cart.

As we left the 5 year old says "Boy your job sure is fun. Do you have fun doing your job?"

"No, not really." I replied. "But it's fun sometimes."

"Well I had a lot of fun and I wish I could do it all the time." She responded

"Well it's a lot more fun when you're the one getting pulled around than when you are doing the pulling, but I'm glad you had a good time."

"Yeah, I had a great time" chimed in the 3 year old.

The whole scenario struck me as funny as we descended in the elevator and I dropped them back off in the restaurant.  Maybe my job really is fun. Maybe it only seems like work because I think of it as fun, as something I have to do and not because I want to do it.  But that's just like any job right? All in all, two little girls spent 5 minutes helping me do my job and they thought it was pretty damn cool.  I think that's more than a lot of people can say and that alone puts a nice big smile on my face.

Take extra special care... of your Bellman!

I'm constantly amazed at the things people say when I'm storing their luggage.  They will always say things like "Oh, please be careful with that, it's got my laptop in it" or "can you take extra special care of that bag, it's fragile" or "Can you make sure nothing goes on top of that bag, it's very expensive." These same people that request my special attention to their precious luggage, stiff me!

I understand the desire to have your valuable handled with finesse, I do the same thing when I have to store my luggage. The difference is, I tip people when I ask them to do something special for me. It is a scientific fact that service industry employees listen better and are much more adept to helping you out when you are in the process of giving them money. Think about it. If you ask a guy to get you a table right away in a very crowded restaurant as a favor, he'll probably just say you should have made a reservation. If you ask for a table in a crowded restaurant and slip the guy a $20, chances are he's gonna take extra special care of you and get you the table that you wanted very quickly.

If a guy slips me $5 while he's telling me that his bag is fragile and he would appreciate it being treated as such, chances are I'm gonna put that fragile bag on a high shelf in the safest part of the bell closet. If a guest asks me to take extra special care of their stuff and doesn't take care of me, chances are those bags are gonna get thrown around the bell closet like a god damn beach ball. What incentive did you give me to give you extra special service? 

I'm sorry folks, but this is New York City. The only people who get extra special service and attention in this city, are the ones who pay for it!

It's always Sunny in....

A few years back, when I had only been in New York about 8 months, Danny DeVito stayed at our little boutique hotel in Times Square.  I didn't know it at the time but his new show "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" had just concluded it's second season.  The second season was the first season as a cast member for Mr. DeVito.  I didn't know it at the time but the other stars of the show (Rob McElhenney, Glenn Howerton, Kaitlin Olson and Charlie Day) began showing up in the lobby accompanied by film crews and began doing interviews right there in the lobby.  Had I known who these people were, I'm sure I would have been much more excited than I was.  


During his stay with us, Mr. DeVito was super cool. He would come down to the lobby to hang out with the staff and bullshit with the girls at the front desk about what songs he had just put on his iPod or where he was going for dinner that night before his ride showed up.  I'll say one thing, he has an incredible amount of confidence for someone who is so small and strange in his appearance.  But I guess that's exactly what makes him such an intriguing star.  It's easy for someone like Jessica Alba or Brad Pitt to be a star because half the time, they don't need to say anything in order for people to want to watch them.  Good looking stars need only smile or show some skin for people to ogle and fawn over them.  I think Josh Hartnett is a terrific example of this point. Movie stars that aren't physically flawless must carry something else about them that draws people to them.  Stars such as Mr. DeVito or Paul Giamatti carry an allure that is accompanied by confidence and acting talent that defines them so much more than their physical attributes.


But I digress from my story. The next day that the front desk calls us on the radio.  "Front desk to bellman." 


"Go for the bellmen" I reply


"Room 1504 needs help with luggage." The front desk responded.  Now it was well known throughout the hotel who was staying in that room for the week.  Since I was the new guy on shift I asked the guys with more seniority if they wanted to help Mr. DeVito down. 


"Naw, you go ahead" said Lenny the brutishly handsome Puerto Rican Bellman that had been working there for 5 years already. Lenny is incredibly nice and gentle but dumb as a freaking newel post. Behind his back we often call him the Big Dummy. "I checked him" he said slowly. "You can check him out."


"Gladly" I replied as I grabbed a bell cart and headed towards the elevators. The elevator stopped at the 15th floor and I got out and headed towards his room.  I knocked on the door and said "Good Afternoon, Bellman here!" in a upbeat and chipper voice.


The short and stalky man answered the door and let me in.  He had only two pieces of luggage that he probably could have handled on his own but instead allowed us to do our job of doing the work for him and let our guest take it easy during their stay.  You'd be amazed how many people these days struggle with bags all the way up to their rooms because they are not willing to let someone else take care of them while on vacation. Either that or they are not willing to part with the $5 it would cost them to tip someone to load their bags on a cart and take them to their room.  "No thanks, we can handle it. It has wheels" is the common response to our question when our guests need help. But, once again, I digress.


After I load Mr. DeVito's bags on the cart we make our way to the elevator.  While waiting for the elevator I make chit-chat with the movie star.  I ask him a question that my mom has wanted to know for years.


"So, I need to find this out for my mom. How tall... is Arnold Schwarzenegger?" 


"He's about 6 feet tall." He replies very cordially.  "You know, Sly Stallone is only Five foot eight.


"You know I'd heard from somewhere that he is very short." I shoot right back.


"A lot of these guys in Hollywood are much smaller than they appear." He informs me. "A common trick is to have them stand on a box during certain shots or put lifts in their shoes. However, this has never been a problem I've had to deal with." He says standing at 4'9". 


As the elevator arrives I say "Well, you seem to make the short thing work pretty well for you." As I say this he shoots me a charming smile.


With the elevator making it's decent to the lobby I ask "What are you working on these days?"


"I'm doing a show called "It's always Sunny in Philadelphia." He replies. 


"Yeah?" I say. "I haven't seen it yet. What's it about?" 


"Well" he says. "Think of it as a real life South Park show set in the city of Philly."


"That sounds hilarious." I say "I'll be sure to check it out. I just moved up here from Philly." 


"Well then I'm sure it will carry extra weight with you" he says as he slips me a $20 and heads towards the front desk to go check out. I take his bags outside and load them into the trunk of the limo waiting in the loading zone.  I head back to my post at the front door and open it for him as he heads out to his ride.


Devito. We look forward to your return." I say as he walks by me.


"Thank you Dylan" he shoots right back. "and be sure to watch the show." he says as he climbs into the back seat of his stretch limousine. 


Well, Mr. Devito never stayed at our hotel again but based on his recommendation I started watching "IASIP" and I have become a life long fan.

2 Buck-a-roo-ies!

This one day I was working the morning shift (7am-3pm) and this cab pulls up directly up to the front door at about noon.  Before they get out I can tell they are old. I ask the cabbie to pop the trunk as as he does so I pull their two plaid American Tourister bags from the trunk I look at the Delta Airline tags on the bag.  It said:

Paul Roanoke
124 rosewood Lane
Mineapolis MN 55405

Immediately, I know what I'm dealing with. Most really old people who flew into New York do so for a son's wedding or a grand-daughter's graduation. Even a grand-daughter's wedding if they really are that old. Also, old people are not known in the industry as good tippers.

That's OK though. I don't expect a great tip from someone who grew up during the Great Depression.  I like old people. I respect my elders I just don't they belong in Manhattan. However, I like helping them out and making them feel comfortable in their new surroundings. I know that it probably scares the shit out of a 80-95 year old person from a small town in the mid-west to step into New York when they haven't left their county in years. I genuinely try to help them regardless as to what they are going to tip me because they are the ones who need it most.

As they hop out of the cab in in a polyester suit and a summer dress that resembles a bathrobe I say:

"Good afternoon and welcome New York City and to the R&B Hotel Mr. and Mrs. Roanoke. My name is Dylan and I will be assisting you through your check-in process today."

"How did he know our name Paul?" asked the old woman with astonishment.

"How did you know my name son? the old man asked with wonder.

"Well I am very intuitive  sir," I say with a wry smile that arouses wonder in my guest's faces. "Plus it's written on your luggage tags sir."

The old couple laughs with me as I help them on to the curb.  I load their luggage on a bell cart and open the grand double doors.  The couple walks into the lobby and I help them to the front desk. The couple is stunned by the art-deco style lobby and have a hard time focusing their attention on the check-in process.

"We have Mr. and Mrs. Roanoke checking in with us today" I say to Natasha at the front desk. Now it is well known around the front office staff that Natasha is the dumbest and most useless employee we have at the R&B hotel but somehow, she maintains her job there. God bless the union I guess!

I leave them, and position the luggage cart next to the Bell closet since I'm almost positive a room won't be ready this early and if it is, Natasha definitely doesn't have the brains or motivation to get it for them.  Eventually Natasha motions the guests towards me without a room key which means the room isn't ready yet, and I will have to store the bags until it is.

I write out a ticket for them and begin tagging the bags for them.

"She says you are going to store the bags for us?" Paul asks me.

"Yes Sir. Hang on to this ticket and when you're room is ready, give it back to me and I will get the bags up to your room right away." I say as I put the ticket in his hand. I show them how to get to a good lunch spot in the area and wish them luck them on their way out into the abyss of Midtown Manhattan.

"Thank you young man." The old woman states as she hands me a dollar bill.  A $1 bill is a shitty tip, but I'm not gonna hold it against these old timers.

A couple hours go by and the old couple returns looking a little bewildered. "Welcome back folks" I say as they return. I'm sure by now housekeeping has been able to turn some rooms and we should have something for them.  They head back to the front desk and after some chatting at the front desk they are given their room keys. I walk right up to them as they say thank you to the front desk agent.

"Looks like we have a room for you" I say. The old man hands the the ticket for his bags and shows me his room key. "Ok, we have you in room #904. Please take these elevators here to your right and head on up to your room and I will bring your bags to you shortly."

I gather the bags on the luggage cart and head up to the room.  Before I can even prop the door open the woman gives me another $1 bill while her husband is trying to figure out the television. I set the bags up on luggage racks for them and told them about the amenities of the hotel. I get the TV to work and set it on FOX NEWS for them (as per their request.) As I get set to leave I say:

"Well, my name is Dylan. If their is anything more I can do for you before your departure just let me know."

Paul stands up and pulls out his wallet. "So do I need to give you something?" He says.

"No sir" I say pulling the $1 bill out of my pocket. "You're wife already gave me this buck-a rooey here."

"No!" The old lady jumps right in. "I gave you two buck-a roo-ies. I gave you one buck-a-rooey downstairs and I just gave you another buck-a-rooey now."

I tell you, this woman was old but she didn't miss a beat. "Yes you did ma'am, you are absolutely right." I say smiling at her quickness. "Enjoy your time here in New York City" I say as I turn to leave.

Not a very good tip but I will never forget that old woman. Some times the story and the memory are worth much much more than a $20 bill.

Bike ride from hell!

This last weekend I bought a beautiful Cannondale road bike from a guy off Craiglist.  After getting it tuned up and buying a sturdy new helmet, I decided to bike into work from Brooklyn to Times Square.  Being that it's Memorial day Monday I figured it shouldn't take me any more than 30 minutes.

As I hit the road at 6am on my way to my 7am shift (I left early just to be safe) I noticed some grey clouds covering the manhattan skyline as I cross the bridge that binds Brooklyn to Queens. "Funny" I thought to myself, "The forecast today is for clear skies and a high of 92." I pay the bleak weather no mind as I head toward the 59th st. Bridge (AKA the Queensboro Bridge.) Now, I was well aware that there was a lane on the bridge for bikes and pedestrians but being as how I had never biked or walked over the Queensboro Bridge, I had no idea how to get to it. "Whatever", I thought as I approached the massive bridge, "I'll figure it out when I get there." Just then I see a sign, It says 'Queensboro Bridge' and it had a little picture of a bike on it.  I follow the signs and end up on a bike trail leading up to the on ramp of the bridge.  "This is it." I thought as i enter the on-ramp of the bridge.

As I pedaled further  realized this is not the bike lane but that I am entering the upper level of the bridge which is 2 lanes of one way traffic for cars only. I think about turning back but it's too late. More and more cars get on the on ramp and I am stuck where I am. The only way to move is forward into Manhattan, backwards is not an option.  At almost the exact moment I realize I am totally fucked I feel raindrops beginning to hit my helmet and I hear a crack of thunder off in the distance. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" I say out loud as the rain begins pelting down on me.

I have practically no room between the guardrail on my left and the cars passing me on my right.  "Get the fuck off this Road!!" shouts one angry commuter from his window as he passes me by. "Thanks buddy," I thnk to myself as the rain continues to drench me and decrease my visibility. As if I don't have enough problems this morning I gotta deal with asshole drivers as well.

The bridge seems to stretch on forever as I work to not get hit by NYC commuters. As I reach the end of the bridge the rain continue to drench me.  I exit out onto 59th st. and 2nd ave. and break away from the bridge commuters. "Fuck me!" I think. "I'm never doing that again." Once I'm in Manhattan the ride is easy though the rain continues to fall. I ride with traffic toward the west side and take a quick detour against a one way street to get to my hotel. Once in the locker room I strip down to nothing and change into my bellman's uniform.  I throw my drenched clothes into the dryer in the housekeeping area for an hour and head upstairs for my shift.  Once upstairs, I find that Natasha, the dumbest front desk agent we have is on staff and working alone today.  "Great." I think. "Looks my problems today have only just begun."

At least I didn't have to deal with the subway!

"Is it hard to get a cab?"

It's a super rainy and shitty spring day in New York City. I'm at work, standing at the podium underneath our huge awning watching sheets of rain pound against the streets of Times Sq. "Holy Shit" I say to myself, "I've never seen rain like this." I mean, I grew up in Seattle. I'm no stranger to rain. But in Seattle it rains a little bit, a lot of the time. I've come to find that in New York, it rains a lot, a little bit of the time.

Just then a young attractive girl in a business suit and high-heels and a Louis Vuitton roller bag walks out of the hotel. She stares at the massive rainstorm unloading itself upon the concrete and turns to me and asks, "Is it gonna be hard to get a cab??"

Now if that's not just the stupidest thing you can say at that point, I don't know what is. And you know what? It's always the bitchy guests that ask that way too.  These are people that don't tip. They want to make sure it's gonna be easy for you to do something for them because they don't plan on tipping you for your efforts. A cool guest will come right up to you and say something like "Hey buddy, can you hail me a taxi please with a tip in hand.  I normally get no more than $2 for grabbing someone a cab but it adds up after a while.

"Yes ma'am." I say. "Unfortunately it will be very hard to get a taxi right now due to the fact that it's rush hour and it's raining REALLY hard right now.

"But I need to get to JFK like, right away." She says

"Well Ma'am, you can take our car service to the airport if you'd prefer. He can leave right now and have you there in 30 minutes." I state my sales pitch.

 It's no great secret that Doormen in big cities receive kick backs from town car services. We are the ones who are in the best position to get people to take transportation back to the airport. The standard is a 20% commission off of their fare. Shit... some cabbies pay hotel doormen $2-$10 per airport run if the allow them to wait outside of hotels all day. Have you ever approached a cabbie in front of a hotel in New York who had his "Off Duty" lights on who stated that he couldn't take you where you wanted to go?  Well I'm here to tell you he was waiting to do an airport run and didn't want to take your shitty fare to Penn Station. Either that or his shift was up and he was on his way to return the cab to the garage on time and still didn't want to take your shitty fare to Penn Station.

When its raining like it was on this day, I knew I wasn't gonna see a cab for a long time. Even if she was going to an airport.

"Well how much does he charge?" She inquires.

$75 including tolls and taxes Miss." I confidently state. "Add in the fact that it's rush hour right now and chances are it could take me up to half an hour to find you a taxi."

"But a cab is only like, $45 right?"

"Well it's gonna be more like $60 when you factor in the tolls and the tip." I respond with a gross estimation of what I know this woman would actually tip in order to make the town car sound more reasonable.

"Well isn't there a number of a taxi company you can call?" She utters the classic "out of your element" question.

"No Ma'am. Unfortunately in New York there is no number to call. You simply have to wait until they drive by or drop somebody off." I say. "I honestly think that right now the town car is worth the extra money it will cost you."

"NO. I'll wait for a taxi." She says, denying all logic and rational thought.

I go out into the rain storm. My only shield from it's fury it the large, golfer's umbrella with the hotel's logo on it. While my suit jacket stays nice and dry my lower half is getting soaking wet. Meanwhile this bitch stands there underneath the dry awning texting on her blackberry with a little fucking snarl on her face that suddenly seems much less attractive than it looked just a moment ago.

"Bitch." I mutter under my breath.

After about 5 minutes out there, my shoes, socks and pants are soaking wet. I come in from rain and approach her under the awning.

"Ma'am, I could stand out there all day getting soaked and still not find you a taxi. Your best shot at getting a cab is if he drops somebody off at the hotel and you don't need me for that. I've got to head downstairs and change into some dry clothes." I state sternly. "If you want to go to the airport right now, I suggest you take the town car we have available for you or work on getting a cab yourself."

She looks astonished by my stern delivery. "That's right bitch, I'm in the union!" I think to myself. "I've got job security! You gotta a problem with how I'm speaking, I dare you to go complain to my manager. You'll spend half an hour in there filing a complaint that's not actually gonna do anything and you'll probably miss you fuckin' flight!" (Side note: In my mind I talk straight up gangsta, Bitch!)

"Fine." She finally concedes to reason. "I'll take the car but I'm not gonna tip him."

"I'm sure you won't ma'am." I state with a grin.

"Nada propina." I say to the driver as I load her bags into the trunk while giving him an apologetic look."

Running out from under the awning he quickly makes his wait to the drivers side so as not to get wet. "Tipico" he says with a pained look on his face as he gets into the drivers seat. Lady has a $1,000 dollar bag and is bitching about an extra $30.

As expected, she stiffs me too. "Whatever," I think to myself. "I still made $15 off you anyway." 

He said Thank You in Turkish

So as I was reading through my entries I realized that all of my blogs so far have complained about bad tips. So I have decided to write a little story about a good tipper.  

A couple years ago I'm working alone on a night shift and this town car pulls up in front of the hotel. From out of the parked car emerge 4 passengers. Except for the driver they all look like foreigners.  Foreigners have a certain look about their face. It's a sort of confused, “fish out of water look” that I can recognize instantly.  Nine times out of 10 I can look at a guest's face and guess correctly whether they are American or foreign.

But I digress. The two passengers who got out of the back were older, by my estimate they were in their late 70's.  The passenger riding shotgun was a bit younger, I'd say late 40's early 50's.  The driver, a young man in his 30's with, dark hair and an olive complexion approaches me as I am unloading the bags.

"I need your help man." He says to me.  This guy here is a big shot for the Turkish government. He is bringing his parents on vacation to New York. I'm gonna be his driver and translator for the next week while they are here."

"You speak Turkish?" I ask surprised, as I detect no accent whatsoever. 

"Yes, I speak Turkish. Look this guy is very particular but if you get him what he wants he will take care of you." He says.

"Sounds good to me." I reply as I close the trunk.  "Welcome to New York!" I say to the group of 3 assembled in front of the hotel. "Please follow me inside." The driver translates my words into a language I can't even begin to pretend to understand as I make our way into the lobby.

The driver takes care of the entire check-in process and says to me,

"Please take his parents up to room 1704 and then take the rest of the luggage to room #1901." The driver explains to me.  These are both very nice rooms so I immediately know that this guy is on the level.  "Gladly" I reply as I use hand motions to guide the elderly couple into the elevator. They oblige me as I follow them in and I say to the driver, "See you in about 5 minutes." 

The old couple stands in the elevator looking a little bewildered and a little road weary.  I know they don't speak any English so I say very slowly and clearly "New York City!" with a big smile, sticking both thumbs way up in the air.  They both smile widely and put a thumb up in the air as well. Success, ice has been broken.  

I get them in their room, set the luggage up nicely and visually show them where all amenities are located. They say "Sthank yooo" in very thick accents as I exit.  No tip. No matter. I'm on my way to 1901.

Before I can even prop the door of 1901 open the big time Turkish guy is putting $60 in my hands. "Thank you sir,” I say.  I get the bags inside and the driver is standing in the parlor room while the man has taken a seat at the desk.  "OK, here's what he wants." the driver states.  "He wants to set up a massage for tonight, as soon as possible. It must be a woman." The man says something in Turkish as the driver looks away from me. He returns his gaze back to my direction and says flatly, "No Asians either." 

"OK" I said, "I don't think that will be a problem." 

"He also wants all his shirts ironed." I see the 5 shirts I hung up in his closet.

"Well there is an iron and an ironing board right over there in your closet." I reply.

"No, he wants someone else to do it for him." he states.

Since the concierge arranges massages, I call their desk from the room.  Natasha answers the phone in a thick polish accent. I say, "The guest in room #1901 would like to book a massage." I say. "Just make sure whoever they send isn't a man, and isn't Asian."

"What?" Natasha asks. "Not Asian?"

"Look, I'm just telling you what he told me. Just make it happen ASAP OK? Now can you transfer me to housekeeping, I need someone to iron his shirts."

The call gets bounced down to the basement and Julio picks up the call. "Housekeeping this is Julio." I recognize the Ecuadorian accent immediately. Julio and I are cool.

"Yo Julio, it's Dylan. I got this guest in 1901 who needs to get five of his shirts ironed."

"No way Dylan, we don't iron people's shirts down here. He's gotta do it himself or send it out to dry cleaning." Julio replies.

"Look man, he will make it worth your while." I say.

"No, nobody down here wants to do it." He comes back.

"Great!" I reply with a smile as I hang up to phone.  "Sir, the massage has been ordered and I will take care of your shirts personally. I will be back shortly.” I grab the shirts out of the closet and take the elevator down to the Lower Levels of the hotel.  I shoot back to the house keeping office and see Julio at his desk.  

"These are the shirts man, I'm gonna iron them myself. Where is the ironing table down here?" I ask Julio.

"We don't have an ironing board but we have this steam cleaner, I bet that would work." Julio replies.

"Cool" I say. I place the five hangers on a pipe hanging from the ceiling and plug the steam cleaner in. I give it a few moments to let it warm up before I start blasting the shirts with the hot steam.  As I looked at each shirt I realized they weren't that wrinkled to begin with.  I spend about 10 minutes steaming each shirt until I get all the wrinkles out. After a few minutes pass I grab the shirts off the old water pipe and hop back in the elevator and shoot up to the 19th floor.  Shirts in hand, I knock on the door of room 1901.  The driver opens the door and lets me in.  I hang the shirt up in the closet and see the big time guy still sitting at his desk, speaking on the phone in Turkish, probably to his parents. "Good" I think, "The non-Asian masseuse hasn't arrived yet." 

The Turkish guest gets up and inspects his shirts. Seeming satisfied with my handy work he hands me another three $20 bills and mutters something in Turkish. Walking out of the room down the hallway I approach the driver.  "What did he say man?" I ask.

"Good Job." Said the driver. "He said good job in Turkish."