Hotel Babylon Reveals World of Luxury Hotels
The customer is always right with their clich�©d requests of more towels or impossible, immediate, immaculate stain removal. Further, though, are the darker sides that a 5-star luxury hotel may allow and hence, reveal.
As a character from the film Dirty Pretty Things observed, “The hotel business is about strangers and strangers will always surprise you, you know? They come to hotels in the night to do dirty things, and in the morning, it’s our job to make things look pretty again.”
The hotel requires a secrecy equal only to that of a Catholic confessional or a Madame’s brothel.
As with all good things of confidence, though, someone eventually comes along delightfully to break it and so they have with the work of the hotelier.
A not surprisingly Anonymous author, with the assistance of journalist Imogen Edwards-Jones, has written a pseudo-fictional expose of the inner workings of London’s luxury hotel business. He is a 15-year veteran of London’s top hotels and currently manages a posh hotel which shall remain unnamed.
The book takes place over a 24-hour period, with each hour taking up one chapter. Discussed is everything from overbooking and up-pricing to celebrities and cleaning staff. To deny the success of this as entertainment would be a sin. However, to consider this on the level of but gossip would be worse still; a revelation of one’s philistine snobbery. The advice for the modern cosmopolitan found within these pages is priceless.
For instance, if upon arriving at a luxury hotel one is vaguely told of there being a malfunctioning mechanical act of God throughout the bowels of the hotel and that rooms may not be available, the hotel has most certainly been overbooked. Another excuse of incredulous hilarity is that a guest has been taken deadly ill and cannot move from the room.
But now, how does one best secure a room in this situation and avoid being boinked to another, lesser hotel? Obviously those who have booked the most nights get premium of place, but outside of them it is interesting to find the announcement of it being a special occasion, not a business trip, pushes one to the front of the list. A couple on an anniversary trip or one person traveling for their birthday are usually seen as more likely to spend freely than a company man on a tight purse.
As for over-charging, the exception to the rule is it not occurring. Anonymous explains the chain; “The suppliers do the hotel, the staff do the hotel and the hotel tries to do everyone.” Beware the supposed exceptional quality and origin of those delicacies which the luxury hotel so easily offers.
Most everything is bought on the cheap at estate auctions. Those cigars smoked after signing the big deal were probably just wrestled from the hands of dead man but a week ago. As for the caviar� well, the Russian mafia carousing in the lobby sold that to the Hotel for an eighth of the price the guests in the penthouse suite will shortly pay for it.
That most famous underbelly of the hotel business, prostitution, offers some of the more humorous anecdotes in the book. An ‘extra pillow’ is code for a prostitute, so be prepared for funny looks when calling for one. Anonymous also readily admits the thorn in his side prostitutes are.
“The problem is, once the bloke has gone off to his meeting in the City or wherever he is supposed to be, they start thinking they’re starring in Pretty Woman and order up things like room service, or hairdressing, or a whole load of stuff from the Concierge.
Then the guest complains that he didn’t order a smoked salmon breakfast at 10:30 a.m. So between 10 and 11, we have to really keep an eye on room service and the telephone lines, and to keep tabs on who has checked out and who shouldn’t or couldn’t possibly be using the service in their room.”
Celebrities give an even fuller range to their idiosyncrasies than most in hotels. Michael Jackson apparently washes only in Evian water. 48 bottles were needed for one bath. Margaret Thatcher likes whiskey, lots of it. Princess Diana had similar designs, but towards champagne. Prince Phillip is obsessed with a very particular recipe for a silver bullet concoction. Pamela Anderson politely asks for the placement of gymnastic sexual aids in her rooms.
The staff’s system of gratuity and kickbacks is a pyramid scheme of impeccable design. Doormen make far more money than one would ever expect. As one would expect, the general advice here is that no tip is too large. Visitors need fear no upstairs-downstairs accusations of gauche, decadent or bourgeois behavior from the regular placing of 3-digit bills into the hands of help.
Throughout a picture of the hotel as a living organism develops. It is a treacherous place of no rational order, but the professionalism of refusing to see any job as undoable has an old-world charm and pride so rarely found these days. The book is pulp, but in its own way, equally delicious and nutritious pulp.
