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."