The Victimization of a Yes Man

Ten bucks.
For an hour upstairs separating sticks from orchids when I could have been down front pulling cars for the departing wedding party at 5 bucks per car.
Now it's not her fault. How could she know that I was expecting at least six times that amount. No, I blame Peanuthead.
Peanuthead is not his real name, of course. It's just that his head is shaped like a peanut. Seriously. The guy should be wearing a monocle and a top hat with his grey valet uniform.
Actually, the real problem is that I'm too acquiescent (everybody sing: ♫ I'm just a guy that caint say no. I'm in a turible fix...♫), which doesn't go unappreciated by my indoor co-workers. I can sometimes wind up with a lot of overtime because someone says "Oh, Ron, before you go..." Somehow, though, it doesn't have the same effect when my fellow valets ask me to do something. Instead, I wind up stressed and broke.
There's a transition period between 2nd and 3rd shift. Most nights it lasts for a minute or two while the afternoon guys tell me about the day and what work is left over. Then they leave, and the night is all mine.
But on those nights that we have events that last into the night, they stick around to help out until such a time that it is determined that I can handle it all by myself without getting totally swamped. Even on the nights when I need them, I still think they are just in the way, and I want them gone. I also feel a bit out of control when they are there, which I resent because this is MY shift, and, unless someone is there who can trump my authority, I should be in charge.
On those busy nights when they are sticking around, somehow I get stuck with all the LAs (Luggage Assistance), which I actually enjoy doing, but often I know it's going cost me more money than I am going to make off of it because lately people are just not tipping well. I wind up with a fiver, which is what I can make pulling around one car, which takes less time, less effort, and a lot less personal interaction. The afternoon guys have already made twice or more what I can hope to make on the night shift, so why don't they do the LAs during the busy times, and let me have a chance at a good night?

It was just getting busy last night when the front desk called the bellstand requesting a bellman and bellcart to the 2nd floor. Peanuthead answered the phone, but he didn't go do it. I had gone to get a car for a couple who just need something out of the trunk, and Peanuthead offered to take the car back to the garage so that I could go up to 2 with a cart. I told him I would take the car back, thinking that that might force him to actually do something about the call that he got. But no, when I got back, he was still at the bellstand. Well, the job needed to be done, so...
When I got upstairs, the wedding planner directed me into the ballroom where there were three tables with about 40 or 50 flower arrangements that she said needed to be taken down to her car. One of the banquets guys and I loaded them all up on two carts and took them out to the foyer, where she told us that the actual flowers were to be trashed. We knew the banquet ladies would want to take the flowers home, so we separated the flowers from the filler and foliage. I got interrupted to help the mother of the bride take some wedding gifts up to the sixth floor, where we discovered that the food that was supposed to be delivered to the new couple had been delivered to the room the bride had been in the night before instead of the suite she was in now, and her sister was eating it.
After getting that all straightened out, I went back down to 2, where the sorting was almost done, and started loading the now empty vases back on the carts. The banquets head and I wheeled the carts to the elevator and out into the lobby, with the wedding planner right behind us. As we got out of the elevator, we passed by Peanuthead, who asked, "Where've you been?" I wanted to slap him, especially since he and the other guy were ready to go, which meant that all the business out front was done. Shit.
The BH and I loaded up her Jeep, then he went inside while I visited with her a bit more. She got out her wallet and pulled out a 20, about a third or less of what I felt I deserved. "Do you have change?"
My job is basically an acting job, so I acted like she hadn't just punched me in the stomach, and resisted the urge to say "Twenty IS change." Instead I said, "I believe so," and pulled out my meager take for the evening, and asked, "How much do you want back?" I gave her the ten dollar bill she asked for, but I had to turn away when she said she hoped that that was enough.

I told the morning guys about what had happened, and they understood exactly why my anger and disgust was centered on Peanuthead. One of them reminded me of Peanuthead's habit of standing with his hips pressed against the bellcart door like he's trying to prevent anyone else from getting to the keys. He pointed to the the hole in the door where the lock used to be before the new one was installed. "That hole is for [Peanuthead]'s penis." The one thing we couldn't decide on, though, was whether he was oblivious or sneaky.
Later, when I complained to someone else, I was told that I just needed to learn to stand up for myself. I know that's true. But I'm not confrontational. I can use my blog for some passive aggression and venting, but I need to take some more positive steps.
I've got the weekend to think about it.

Ugh!!!!

Tip-wise, I did pretty good for a Tuesday last night. Too bad it was a Saturday. We had an entire wedding party of inadequate tippers. Even the bartenders were discussing them. To add insult to injury, one of the drunken guests was telling me how wealthy they all were, and how they'd all hook us up.
I think part of the problem was that the parking was pre-paid, and the guests assumed that the tips were pre-paid as well, or that the valets got a portion of the parking fee, putting them in the same category of people who think that we tip share, so if they tipped the guy last night, that means I get some of that too.
There are times that I wish I could lecture the guests about proper tipping, but we're not actually allowed to discuss that type of thing with the guests. Meanwhile, I'm worried about how I'm going to pay the phone bill.

w appre yo he

This morning Lrbom asked me how I did last night. I replied, "'Bout half." He asked me what I meant by that, and I pointed to the drive and said, "One dollar people out here," then pointed to the upper floors and said, "Five dollar people up there."
When I told Gaby about that this evening, he suggested that maybe I should only take people's luggage halfway to their rooms. Too impractical, of course, and yet...

Short-shifted and Short-changed

Tonight is the fourth of four nights working a six hour shift. We lost one of our bellmen last week, so Bossman is trying to fill in hours by being creative with the schedule. He needed me six nights this week, and since he can't schedule me overtime, four of those nights have fewer hours. The only problem I have with the arrangement is that he's snipped off the two hours when I would normally be making some tip money. Couple that with having been off four of the last six Friday nights, and my income has suffered.
The ratio of tippers to non-tippers hasn't changed much (though I got stiffed seven times by a departing wedding party last weekend,) but what's aggravating me most right now is the undertippers. For some reason lately more and more people are giving $3-5 for $10-20 jobs. The worst was the two Italian guys last week who had four luggage carts worth of suits that they were taking to market in Dallas. Lrbom and I both helped bring all their stuff down and got their car from valet, and then had to split a $3 tip. $3 for a $40 job.
Anyway, the last six weeks have been dismal, and the result of all this is that I have to borrow money from my savings account to pay my phone bill this week, and I still need to put gas in the car. I'm feeling cheated.

TPTTs and Other Zombies

TPTT = Too Pretty To Tip. These are the (usually) young ladies who seem to believe that their youth and beauty exempts them from the conventions of polite society. As the valet holds the door for them, they flash a smile, and with earnest eyes and voice say, "Thank you so-o much!" The valet, who has been standing in the cold waiting for her to finish saying good-bye to her friends, hoping that the weather will convince her that perhaps the customary $2-$5 isn't enough, watches her drive off, feeling that she wasn't that grateful or appreciative of his efforts at all.

Zombie = a walking stiff. (Of course it is. What else would it be?) Most of the time, these people just say thank you and drive off, but occasionally they feel they should offer an explanation.

Zombie excuses:
At our hotel, we normally charge for parking. Decades ago, there was plenty of parking around the hotel, but that was all lost to urban renewal in the seventies. Now there is a small lot for valet parking, which we charge to use, and a city-owned parking garage next door, which the city charges to use. I neither approve nor condemn the parking charge. It just is.
Overnight valet parking is $20 ($18.45 + tax), and event, bar, and day-use parking is $12. Organizers of events may negotiate a different rate. Restaurant parking is comped. This has nothing to do with the valets themselves. They do not collect the money, nor do they benefit from it being collected. So when a zombie says, "I paid inside," the valet hears "I have an excuse to stiff you."

We do not pool our tips. Each valet benefits from the generosity of the guests who appreciate his individual effort. When a zombie says, "I tipped the other guy," the valet hears "I have an excuse to stiff you."

Often someone will offer an apology for not having the cash for a tip. This is understandable, and we don't hold it against them. After all, we've all been there, and good intentions do count.

Related topics:
I used to deliver pizzas. There were certain addresses we knew because they never tipped, and therefore were on the NHDNT list (No Hurry-Does Not Tip.) Whenever possible, these deliveries were given to the new guys.

Valet Welfare

One of the reasons that I'm glad I work alone is that I don't have to deal much with the politics of working with someone else.

There is a guest who stays at our hotel frequently, Mr. MK, who is a generous tipper. He usually tips the valet $100 on the way in, and again on the way out. This has created some conflict among some of the valets, because greed has gotten in the way of teamwork. This is a bad thing, because, as my boss has pointed out, if Mr. MK ever gets wind of this, the big tips will probably stop. In fact, he may take his business elsewhere.

Last night, Mr. MK and his party arrived in two trucks, he and his friend in the monster pick-up, the ladies he picked up at a bar in the SUV. The ladies arrived first. I was returning from the garage when I saw the pick-up pull in. When I got outside, the last remaining afternoon valet, JY, was writing him a valet ticket. "Did you guys take care of my ladies?" MK asked.
"I did," I responded.
Mr. MK handed John a $100 bill, and went to join the ladies in our bar. JY went inside, clocked out and went home. This hardly seemed fair to me, but I didn't say anything. The ladies left about three hours later, and still I got no tip. And I had all night to think about it.

The morning valets arrived just before 7:00am, and when KE came into the office, he found me finishing up my clerical work. "I'm taking MK this morning." I said. I explained what had happened last night, and that Mr. MK had requested the truck at 8:00.
"You ought to go ahead and pull it around now before Bossman gets here, so he won't gripe about us splitting it," KE said. I hadn't realized that Bossman was going to be there. To me it was good news. But now we've arrived at the crux of the problem.

We have two valets with a reputation for greediness: KE and RB. It all started the day that KE came in to work early, got Mr. MK's keys, and pulled the truck around two hours before Mr. MK would be leaving. When RB asked about it, KE said that Mr. KE had requested that the truck be out there that early. Relentless interogation by RB forced KE into a deal where they would split the tip if RB got Mr. MK's luggage. But while RB was upstairs, he asked Mr. MK about the truck, and the lie was now exposed.

Over the next few weeks, deciet and dirty tricks ruled, until finally they came to an agreement. They would split the MK tip among all the valets working at whatever time Mr. MK left (usually a four way split.) Sort of a Valet Welfare system. The wrench in the works was Dane, who had originally taken care of Mr. MK, and considered him to be his own guest. (KE also has a pet guest.) Management intervened, and Dane now has dibs whenever he happens to be working on a morning when Mr. MK is staying with us.

KE came back to the office to tell me that another valet had just arrived, and I needed to move the truck now. Then he stood there a while and watched me ignore him. After he left, and I had finished my task, I went out and found that Bossman had arrived. I took him aside, and and explained the situation to him, including the part about KE expecting me to participate in the welfare plan. I had no intention of doing so, of course. I mean, I understand its purpose, but it's just stupid.

He pointed out that just as JY had stayed late and snatched my tip, now I was doing it to someone else. He also scolded me for not having said something to JY. But he understood where I was coming from, that I wouldn't even be there if I'd been treated fairly to begin with, and therefore he allowed it.
I felt sorry for him later. KE was mad, and he explained the whole welfare plan to Bossman in heated tones while I eavesdropped from behind a column. To him, giving up the major portion of one's money to those who had done nothing to earn it was only fair, and I was being greedy.

When KE had gone to get a car, I outlined my work philosophy to Bossman:
Do your job.
Do it well.
Work as a team.
If there are rewards involved, don't begrudge your teammates their reward.

With that in mind, Mr. MK should be placed in the rotation just like every other guest. Outside of Dane's priveledges, it's luck of the draw that determines who gets him. Period.

While we were still discussing this, Mr. MK and his friend came out. I pocketed my $100 and went home.