Hotel Front Desk
by Lisa Westbrook—Age 46—Memphis, TN
For three years I worked part-time at the front desk of a small hotel in Washington, D.C. It was easy work, paid well and offered a short commute—across the street from my apartment.
It was also near the Kennedy Center so it attracted actors and performers. I got to meet lots of famous people. Richard Thomas, a.k.a. John Boy Walton, was really nice. I was surprised at how short he was. Mikhail Baryshnikov was short, too, but handsome. He came in late one night and got really angry when I told him that the restaurant was already closed.
Sometimes I thought hotels brought out the worst in people. They’d come in stressed from their flight or cab ride and scream at me. Some guests loved to argue about their bills, saying they didn’t order this or that food, or didn’t watch these movies or didn’t make phone calls. I knew they were lying, but our policy was to trust the guest and take off the charges.
I worked with people from all over the world. Late at night when it was slow, I heard their stories. Bennie, the doorman, was from Eritrea. He said he had to leave for political reasons. He had small, delicate features and perfect teeth. Ahmed came to the United States from Afghanistan. He told me how his family left with the clothes on their backs and went to India and through Europe, to England and then here. He was 15 at the time. His feet froze during the journey, and he lost his toes on one foot.
Once we got a new doorman, Huang. This gig was his third job. He was saving money to buy his own cab, and he sent half his earnings back home to his parents in Cambodia. Huang would do anything for a guest to get a tip—iron a shirt, run an errand. He once helped an old lady trim her toenails. Of course he was supposed to be at the front door and bringing in luggage, but I didn’t mind covering for him. In six months he saved $18,000 and bought a new Toyota Cressida. It was a good-looking car until he had it painted like a Diamond cab. One Sunday night, the hotel manager popped in unexpectedly, and Huang had taken a guest to the airport. I couldn’t explain that one away, and he got fired.
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