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."
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