Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Hey,” says a tiny woman with very white teeth, her black hair tied back in a bun. She pulls a trolley behind her. “Come and I’ll show you how to stock a cart. Grab that one.” She indicates to a black, open-shelved trolley up against the wall. “It’s Debbie’s but she won’t be in this week.”
I go ahead and maneuver the trolley toward Marcella as everyone disperses.
“This is the room that stocks everything non-food,” she says.
Marcella’s not going to want to tell me anything twice, so I pull up my phone and start making notes.
“I always start with towels, because it’s a pain in the ass to be short on towels. We’ve been running out of bath mats lately, so be sure to grab those first.”
I type furiously.
“These are bath towels—not to be confused with bath mats,” she says. “Five in a pack,” she says, picking up a stack of towels wrapped in plastic. “We do suites, but don’t be fooled thinking we’re going to need fewer towels. The people in the suites like a lot of extra towels.”
She rips through the plastic and starts stacking towels on the bottom shelf of the trolley. I copy her. We do the same with hand towels and bath mats. “Some girls stack their carts the night before.” She winces. “Things tend to go missing overnight, and then you’re stuck going through the whole process all over again the next day. Better to wait for the morning.”
“The other housekeepers take stuff?”
She nods. “It’s usually only agency staff and the evening staff that do it—the lazy ones. There’s a core eight of us that would never act like that to each other, but…” She shrugs. “It’s dog-eat-dog in this business.”
Dog-eat-dog? What are we doing, mixed martial arts or making beds?
She shows me to the cabinet with the toiletries. “Make sure your refill cans are topped up. It’s a pain in the ass having to top up the shampoo and conditioner and shower gel and not just replace the disposable bottles, but that’s what you get when you treat the planet like shit. If you see one of these…” She holds up a white, plastic funnel that seems like it’s attached to a chain she wears around her waist. “Grab it and don’t let it go. They’re like gold dust. I take this little fucker home with me or it would be gone in an instant.” She snaps her fingers. “Without it, half the shampoo ends up in the bath and you end up spending too long cleaning it off and going to get more refills.”
I surreptitiously scan the area for a funnel, but the room is so full with stuff, I can’t see anything other than color.
“I can send you a link on Amazon,” she says.
“Oh, you bought your own?” I ask.
She just shrugs.
We finish stocking our trollies, which I actually quite enjoy, making room for everything like a giant jigsaw. We double-check we have all the cleaning supplies we need, then head toward the lifts.
“Second rule of housekeeping, after restocking the towels first, is always use the service elevators. You’ll get fired if anyone sees you using a guest elevator. But the service elevators are always next to the guest elevators through the door opposite, so you can still follow the signs.”
“Okay, good tip.”
Out of the elevators, I follow Marcella along a corridor. “If we can get into these two suites at the same time, it saves us from having to go down to the basement and across to the other elevators. Saves so much time. But… third rule is, do whatever you can to service the rooms when the guest is out.”
“Okay, isn’t that always the case?”
She sucks in a breath like I have too much to learn for this lifetime. “Absolutely not. Especially in the suites. Some of them are used just like someone’s home. They’re not necessarily out at work or sightseeing all day. But if the guest is in-room, it’s the worst. First off, they always remember a thousand more things they want: extra facecloths, more tissues, a blanket or a different type of pillow. Plus they watch how you do things and the number of complaints you get is ridiculous. People have very firm views on how long the vacuum should be running.” She rolls her eyes. “The upside is that the tips go up when guests can put a face to the person cleaning up their shit. Literally, in some cases.”
“Oh, well, that’s good,” I say.
“It’s the only good thing about it. If you can, avoid it. Especially if you’re new.”
We arrive at a hotel door and she flashes me a smile. “This”—she points at the light by the door that glows orange—“this is what you’re looking for. They’ve pressed ‘make up the room’—that means they’re out and they want their room done ASAP.” She presses the buzzer next to the sign. “Always ring the bell, even when they’ve put the sign on. You never know what you might walk in on. Last year, Trudy walked in on a man naked, writing all over himself with a Sharpie.”