More of a shark than a sage, Coop knew just how to engage hotel guests, to maximize their enjoyment while increasing his weekly monetary intake. “Don’t ask if they need help. Just go for it: Greet people while you’re reaching for their luggage and more often than not, they’ll simply allow you to assist, especially if you’re complimenting them at the same time, like, ‘Nice car!’ or ‘Where did you come in from? Oh, I love it there!’”
Coop’s magic was in his seamless dia- logue. Sure, he was a money machine, but he also was a master orator.
The Takeaway: I went from being nearly mute and totally withdrawn to becoming engaging and fully confident in my cus- tomer service skills - always ready to dialogue with others - thanks in great part to my old buddy, Coop.
Cruella DeVille®
No, that wasn’t her real name and, yes, it’s kind of cruel of me to even call her this, but I do not lie when I tell you that the director of operations of the subur- ban hotel where Coop and I spent our formative years was managed by a middle-aged woman who really (and I mean really) resembled the spindly, wicked, animated character from the Walt Disney® classic, 101 Dalmations® - mink stole (no, hers wasn’t made from dog coats!), stiletto heels, a shock of white hair and all. Our Cruella even drove a shiny white Excalibur with chrome exhausts sprouting from the sides; the same kind of sporty roadster the movie character wheeled around in!
When Coop and I made the leap from lowly bellmen to hapless front desk agents, we were right in the firing line most every Saturday afternoon at check-in time. “What do you mean my room’s not ready?! It’s five in the after- noon! I put down a deposit. I want my room! Now! Where’s your manager!!”
The answer was usually: “Off property.” Instead of guiding us or inspiring us, Cruella would admonish us for - well, for pretty much everything. There was no support system. No merit system, either. On busy weekends, we were The Enemy of the People, trying to make our guests happy (to little avail) while slav- ing to keep our jobs. No lie: By my last year there, I was working six days a week from 5:30 in the morning till 11:30 at night. I was 23. I felt 83. Life to me was the same, anxious reel. Every day was another press of the repeat button.
The 1980s were not a time of kumbaya teamwork, nor was there a chance of us jumping into any sort of class action lawsuit just because we were forced to work scads of overtime without com- pensation.
In those days, you either put in your eighty to ninety hours a week or you were out the door. We were all very replaceable.
Why would I list Ms. DeVille as a moti- vator? It’s because I learned how NOT TO treat others in the workforce because of how she had treated us. From her shortcomings, I gained an incredible sense of value toward others. I got to understand how to treat people with respect - something that both Cruellas (the movie character and the hotel one) never took the time to do with those around her.
Instead of “One day, I am going to track her down, and when I do I’ll give her a piece of my mind!” - as I used to swear to my wife I would do - a couple years ago, I looked up my former boss on LinkedIn, and after we had connected I thanked her.
I told her how I had learned so much from her during those four great (read: hellish) years. Cruella was appreciative. I had made her happy, and that in turn made me happy. So, instead of retribu- tion, I turned my hostilities into a show
of appreciation, meaning, I got to tell Cruella how much I had gained from her without divulging my true feelings.
The Takeaway: I learned that even those I dislike most in this world (thank- fully, that list is very, very short), should still be treated respectfully.
See Dick run - a hotel See Dick walk.
When John, my new man- ager at what used to be the Stouffer Valley Forge Hotel, said to me, “Let me introduce you to our Assistant GM, Mr. Dick,” I couldn’t help but to snick- er. I mean, c’mon - Mr. Dick. What a funny name, right?
When I met Dan Dick, I saw a reserved, soft-spoken, fair and friendly gentleman. Today, when I think of him he reminds me of Anthony Hopkins servitude-driven character in the film “The Remains of the Day,” where he played a consummate butler.
While walking me through the hotel dur- ing our initial meeting, I admired how Mr. D. took the time to pick up small scraps of paper which had been missed by the housekeepers in the hall- way, and his ongoing greeting of every single guest and employee alike, was impressive, as well. He acknowledged everyone and treated them all with respect.
After less than a week I no longer thought about the name thing. In fact, once I had become a manager myself, I had found the same immature chortles from my new hires (“Mr. Dick? Ha-ha- ha!”) to be tiresome.
The Takeaway: I learned that when you stoop to a low level simply for self-satis- faction, well - guess who’s the real Mr. Dick?
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