Here at Anxiety Addicts, it’s hard to pick our favorite genre of BS. The first day of school stories, the meet-cutes, the mishaps, the ER visits, not to mention the first dates and the lengths people will go to for friendship. They’re all entertaining, heart-warming, hilarious, and painfully relatable. But one that never ceases to entertain us, time and time again, are service industry stories.
Maybe it's because Morgan and I were waitresses and bartenders for decades. We paid our rent working long hours at nice restaurants and not-so-nice restaurants and very, very shitty bars. We memorized hundreds of drinks and dozens of regulars. We went to weird lengths to make people happy. That’s what you do when you work in this world. It’s not that ‘the customer is always right,’ it's something else. In some places, yes, usually the more upscale bars and always the Italian restaurants, there is this unspoken rule that you don’t say ‘no,’ unless absolutely necessary. It doesn’t matter where you worked in this country or when, there is always this connective tissue linking the experiences of those slogging it out in the service industry. These stories hold a special place in our hearts. This one is no exception.
This one is about Gregory. Gregory had a plan. It started young. Every night for at least three years, he insisted that his mother read him the book, ‘Eloise,’ about a six-year-old girl who lived at The Plaza Hotel in New York. He’d prop himself up in bed, his eyes dissecting every illustration of Eloise terrorizing the most storied hotel in Manhattan. He leaned into every detail. When his mother finished the story, she’d turn off the light, close the door, and leave Gregory to the whims of his imagination. The dreams that followed weren’t about him playing the part of Eloise. No. In his dreams, he was always Mr. Salamone, the manager. That was the castle in the air. As Gregory matured, so did his dreams.
It wasn’t a Wes Anderson obsession that led him to see The Grand Budapest Hotel no less than six times in the theaters. It was firstly, the hotel itself. A close second was Monsieur Gustave H, the famed concierge played by an inimitable Ralph Feines. He dragged along his best friend, Chloe twice in one day. First for the matinee and then when she agreed that they were witnessing unparalleled cinematic greatness, they they hung around in the lobby for an hour and stayed for the dinner time showing. Of course, without even thinking, he brought his mother, Lilly, once on Sunday and then dragged her across town to the theater of Indie Darlings so they could catch the midnight screening. The following day, Gregory rang up his elderly neighbor, Glorietta. She had never even heard of Wes Anderson. Out of all of his dates, it was Glorietta who loved it the most. He would have taken Glorietta for a second time but the movie’s run ended before he could cash his next bookstore paycheck.
The following year, his on-screen hotel devotion took a much more - how do we say this - downscale turn. Schitt’s Creek debuted and, well, inevitably became Gregory’s entire personality. Unlike so many of the viewers who were rooting for Stevie, Alexis, or David, Gregory was compelled as a die-hard Schitt’s Creek fan to root for the Rosebud Motel itself. And that’s what he did.
So when the guidance counselor had him fill out a nine-page survey his senior year, Gregory didn’t feel the need to answer dozens of questions about his interests and skill sets. He knew that he wanted to run a hotel. He handed the blank questionnaire back.
“So,” Mrs. McNally looked at him over her horn-rimmed glasses and a sparkle in her eye. She’d worked at the school her entire adult life and had a soft spot for decisive students. “I’ll fill out ‘hospitality’?”
Gregory shook his head.
“That’s too general. I want to run a hotel. Obviously, I won’t start with the Fountain Bleau. I need a resume before I just show up in Miami, take over the place, and restore it back to its original 1960s heyday, but this is what I am meant to do.”
Gregory imagined himself as the sort of hotel manager like the actor Héctor Elizondo did in Pretty Woman did for Julia Roberts. He had big plans. Big. Huge. Anyway, I have to be shopping now.
Mrs. McNally’s fingers whizzed across the keyboard.
“Do you have a backup?” She knew the question was silly. But she was so enjoying her time with Gregory that she didn’t want him to leave. He answered in the form of a raised left eyebrow. You had to hand it to the kid, he had some moves.
The smile that spread across Mrs. McNally’s mouth was contagious.
“Look, I don’t always make personal connections for students, but I do know the manager of the Hyatt. Maybe you could start working this year? And then, I want to encourage you to apply to the big schools. The worst thing that they can say is no. I can only imagine how your personal essay will read.”
Wait, the Hyatt?! Gregory felt his stomach flip flop. He didn’t know why he’d never considered working in a hotel while he still lived at home. It had just seemed like a real, professional job for real, professional adults. Although he had just turned seventeen, he was still a scrawny kid who usually got away with buying a youth ticket at the movie theater. He didn’t have a strand of facial hair to his name and his voice still occasionally squeaked when he got nervous. Like now.
“Wait–” His generation said that a lot. Maybe the world really was moving too fast. “Do you really think that they would hire me?”
Now it was Mrs. McNally’s turn to silently raise an eyebrow. “Apply to the big schools. Cornell. NYU. Hospitality management. You need the degree. And you will learn so much. You get on those applications, I’ll see about getting you a job.
The cloud that carried Gregory out of Mrs. McNally’s office pushed him down the hallway, out the door, and pushed him to Starbucks to get himself a “little treat.” He didn’t know what he was celebrating, but he knew that it was going to be good.
When Gregory saw the email from “HernandezGeorge@Hyatt44.com,” he nearly jumped out of his skin. He and his mother were zoned out for their nightly fix of reality TV on the old sofa and when he clicked it open. His cry scared his mother who was deeply invested in the cheating scandal involving people whom she’d never met.
“I have an interview!” he sang. Lily jumped up. These entitled people and their extramarital affairs and obscene wardrobes would have to wait. In no time at all she’d set up her iron, her lavender spray, and barked orders at her only child.
“The white shirt! They always wear white at hotels.” Gregory was still in shock and unable to think clearly. He took stock of the button-down that his mother held out on a wire hanger. It really wasn’t speaking his language.
“What about my pink pinstripe? It’s much more sophisticated. It says I have style.”
“You have style when you walk!” Lilly exclaimed. “You don’t need your shirt to do the talking for you.”
This was a tough statement to counter. One could argue that Gregory Menzoda had the most stylish walk in all of Summerville County.
And so it went. Mother and son eventually settled on a grey check shirt with herringbone pants which Lilly expertly let out an inch at the hem.
“You are growing!” Her speech was garbled, her mouth holding both a pair of sewing scissors and a pen. Gregory didn’t know why seamstresses always held their tools between their teeth. His grandmother and aunts did the same. Luckily, he knew how to understand this very specific speech impediment.
“Not fast enough.” It was true. He was a late bloomer– at least, that what Lilly said. Gregory knew how to compensate for his lack of physical stature. There was never a more impressive class clown. We say that because he also managed to get the teachers to laugh. He’d been the star of the marching band all throughout high school and his cookies were the first to sell out at the many, many bake sales. But he didn’t feel like he was growing. The truth was, a lot of life felt pretty easy to our soon-to-be-hotel manager. He needed a challenge. But he didn’t know that yet.
The day of the interview felt like it belonged to one of his favorite shows. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the birds chirped overhead as if there were a feathered family reunion taking place in the cherry trees outside of the Hyatt. Lilly drove right to the front door and insisted on waiting outside for her son. The immaculately dressed bellman opened her door.
“Checking in, ma’am?” Lilly beamed as if she’d recently had headlights implanted into her forehead.
“Oh no. You see my son here? He’s interviewing for a job! He wants to run a hotel one day.”
“Mom!” Gregory was used to chastising his mother and her more braggadocious tendencies. But, on this particular day, he felt just as proud as she did and his voice was anything but fierce.
Lilly turned to her handsome boy. “Good luck. You are a star. They would be lucky to have you. I will wait right here.”
Gregory escaped the motherly smothering and hopped out of the passenger door, waving behind him as he walked confidently into the lobby. Lilly gripped the steering wheel. She couldn’t tame the butterflies zipping around in her stomach. The bellman stuck his head in the window.
“Ma’am? You can’t actually wait right here. This is a loading zone.” Lilly just smiled. She didn’t get to where she was in life by following rules. She put the car in drive and pulled up four feet.
“Then I will wait here.” She grinned playfully at the man in the chauffeur’s cap. That smile had been part of her success. The man tipped the brim and went back to his post. This was how Gregory and Lilly worked. They were a team. She’d instilled in him a limitless drive, compassion, a sense of humor, and an ability to finesse the rules. Gregory was an eager learner. Now, if Lilly had thought that he’d grown while fixing his trousers, she thought he’d doubled in size walking out of the revolving door. His back was straight, his head high, his smile confident, and although she kept this to herself, she swore she spotted a shadow of a mustache that hadn’t been there 45 minutes earlier.
He didn’t even have to tell her that he’d gotten the job. Their hug lasted for an entire Gloria Estefan song on the FM radio and then they went to lunch to celebrate.
“Just a little treat,” Lilly shrugged, her face bursting with joy.
This was, of course, a fabulous turn in Gregory’s life events.
Because life is life, the job at the Hyatt was not exactly the seamless answer to his dreams. Yes, he was hired as a seventeen-year-old with no experience. Yes, he had the weekend night shift.
Going into work at 10 pm was almost an otherworldly experience. When the rest of the city was packing it in for the night or heading out to party, Gregory was walking through the revolving doors in his perfectly pressed pants and clocking in on the machine in the employee locker room. His excitement was tempered by his anxiety.
He’d already shadowed the front desk agents for three entire shifts. He thought he knew all of the things that could go wrong. His overnight duties would include very late check-ins, noise disturbances, and hopefully not sending up the handyman crew for any maintenance issues. A weekend shift could be fast or famine, as far as issues went. He hoped for an easy night.
The music pumped in through the speakers was a funny mix of spa and techno. Gregory spent the next two hours organizing the desk drawers, trimming down the flower stems on the many vases on the ledge, and lighting the scented candles he found on the back shelves. When the clock ticked to midnight, he secretly hoped that a guest would ding the metal bell and summon him. As if the universe was listening, it did.
Suddenly appearing in front of his post was the most coiffed woman he’d ever seen in his life. Her platinum blonde hair was coiled into a perfect chignon and she could have been anywhere between the ages of 50 and 75. Some parts of her were clearly much, much younger. She reached out a manicured hand, dripping with enough bling to put a Top 40 rapper to shame.
“Mrs. Helena Richardson.” Gregory couldn’t find his voice. He didn’t know much about spirit animals but he knew in that moment that he would do absolutely anything for this woman.
“Gregory,” he squeaked out.
“Charmed. I have a problem.” Mrs. Helena Richardson had a smile that could melt butter. She smelled like a combination of expensive perfume and expensive vodka.
“I ordered extra towels. They brought way, way, WAY too many.” Mrs. Helena Richardson grabbed onto the counter as if the thought of that much linen could make her collapse at any time.
“Oh no!” Gregory was as horrified as his guest. How could you look at this woman and deliver her anything but the perfect amount of towels?
“I have to apologize on behalf of the entire establishment. I will send someone up right now to remove them.”
Gregory immediately picked up the house phone, dialed *11 for housekeeping, and informed them of the issue. “Oh right,” he said into the receiver, caught off guard, “let me ask. Mrs. Richardson, your room number please?”
“1550.” Mrs. Helena Richardson pressed her lips together and nodded, pulled a $50 bill out of her Chanel purse, and slid it across the counter.
“Oh no! I couldn’t accept that,” Gregory cried. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a $50 bill before. “No, not you,” he yelped to room service before hanging up the phone.
“They will take care of it right now.” Mrs Richardson smiled and winked. “You’re a good kid, I like you,” her words were a bit slurred but that didn’t stop them from making Gregory’s heart burst with pride. He watched her wobble on her kitten heels into the elevator and up to the top floor.
Whew. That was a big event. Not what he was expecting.
Gregory had just finished walking around the lobby and checking all the scented candles were burning evenly when the elevator dinged and Mrs. Helena Richardson was standing in front of the desk “Still there!” she cried, wobbling even more.
Gregory was infuriated. How could The Hyatt, one of the most respectable hotel chains in the world, let down the most glamorous woman he had ever met? He was embarrassed, appalled, and determined to make sure that Mrs. Helena Richardson would come back or - worse, so much worse, leave a negative internet review. He raced to the phone, dialed housekeeping, and insisted that they take out every towel except for one.
“Did I make myself clear?” He said in a voice mimicking the soap operas that he used to watch with his mother when he was home sick from school.
“I am so, so very sorry Mrs. Richardson, I insist on making this better, I–” Gregory looked around his desk. He wanted to give her something, anything, to smooth over this utter catastrophe. He reached into the ceramic dish on the counter and pulled out a large handful of mints and, without using his brain, sort of flung them at the woman who was basically Beyoncê and Cher and The Queen of England all rolled into one.
“Here!”
Mrs. Helena Richardson stood stunned as she was showered in Brach’s Star Bright candies.
“I’m SO SORRY!” The level of fluster that Gregory was now experiencing could have shot him through the ceiling like a rocket. But it didn’t. Because this was the moment that he was born for. He flew out from behind the desk, offering his elbow to the Grande Damme as if he were escorting her into the dining room of the Titanic.
“I shall take you there personally, he declared. Do you have your key card?”
Mrs. Helena Richardson handed it over and they rode up to the top floor of the Hyatt in an elevator that boasted not one but two velvet benches. During the 45-second ride, Mrs. Helena Richardson managed to spread herself out on the left one and fall asleep. As the car dinged and the doors opened, Gregory did his best to wake her with as much respect as humanly possible.
“Are we here?” The golden girl asked. She got up from the bench, smoothed out her skirt, and marched down the hallway, Gregory tripping over himself to keep up with her. He trailed her, taking a right, and then a left, winding up at the penthouse suite. But, before he could open the door for his very important guest, he watched Mrs. Helena Richardson bang on a different door before flinging it open and gasping. She turned to the newest desk clerk at the hotel, now furious.
“You see?!?”
And Gregory did. From floor to ceiling, there were perfectly stacked rows of white towels and sheets, pillows, and extra blankets. They filled the entire room. There wasn’t anywhere to sleep or unpack a suitcase. There wasn’t even a bathroom. Because…. This was the linen closet.
Now, Gregory may have been brand new to the industry but he understood this moment like a seasoned veteran. He, again, extended his elbow, looked straight ahead, and guided Mrs. Helena Richardson to her door. Her real door. Her large room with a sofa and a TV and a bed and a bathroom with the appropriate amount of towels. With no eye contact and, and small bow that came from a childhood of watching Disney films, Gregory left and went down to the lobby.
The rest of the night, poor Gregory was in a bit of shock. He had never had to accommodate a very drunk, older, sophisticated woman before. He hoped with all his heart that he did a good job but that didn’t stop him from worrying.
The next morning, he was woken with a start as Lilly pounded on his door.
“Wake up, wake up, it is the boss calling you. George Hernandez!” Gregory jumped out of bed, groggy from his overnight shift, the knot in his stomach creeping its way up to his throat and threatening to strangle him.
Lilly threw the phone in his face.
“Hello? Yes, this is he.” It was, in fact, Mr. Hernandez. And he was calling about Mrs. Helena Richardson. Mrs. Richardson, it turned out, was not only a regular at the hotel but the owner’s wife. To vanquish her embarrassment, she must have called George and insisted on a promotion for Gregory.
Gregory fell back asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming about nothing but towels for the rest of the day.
Sweet dreams...
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