Good day, team. We have a sticky situation on our hands, I’m afraid. The reviews of our property on TravelTattler for the first week were primarily negative. Now, I understand that people are more likely to leave a review when they have a problem and that it’s highly likely that all the guests who didn’t leave a review left the hotel feeling perfectly content and satisfied with their stay. However, I will not be awarding the thousand-dollar bonus this week.
I hope you all realize that a satisfied guest isn’t enough. I want you, please, to make every effort to see that our guests leave jubilant, energized, and inspired to tell the internet about their unparalleled stay at the Hotel Nantucket.
This is not meant as punishment or even a reprimand. Please think of this e-mail as an impetus to take your guest-service skills to the next level.
Thank you.
XD
TravelTattler Reviews
The Hotel Nantucket, Nantucket, Massachusetts
Dates of your stay: June 11–13
Number of people in your party: 3
Name (optional):
Please rate the following areas of the hotel on a scale of 1 to 10
Reception/checkin: 10
Room cleanliness: 10
Style/decor: 10
Concierge: 10
Wellness center: 10
Pools: 10
Room service/minibar: 10
Overall experience: 2
Please feel free to leave additional comments about your stay, singling out any staff members who made your visit memorable.
I wish you had a category for rating the bell staff because that would answer the riddle of how my two gal pals and I could love everything about this hotel and still give it a two-star experience overall. The bellman who was on duty during our stay was not only full of himself but also incredibly rude, unfriendly, and unaccommodating. He ruined what was an otherwise wonderful experience. We also suspect he was behind some inexplicable phenomena that happened in our room on the final night of our stay. He should be fired promptly.
Grace has been watching the day-to-day activity at the hotel unfold with great interest, and although she’s biased, she happens to think her crush Zeke English is doing a terrific job. He was a little awkward during the first week while he was learning the ropes—and admittedly, he’s nowhere near as polished as Adam, who works with Zeke during the day, or Raoul, who works nights—but today is June 11, the start of week two, and Zeke has clicked into gear like a fine race car.
When Roger’s Taxi pulls up to the front of the hotel and disgorges three very exuberant-looking women of a certain age, Adam nudges Zeke and says, “All yours, stallion,” and Zeke strides over with his winning smile, shoulders back, to welcome the ladies to the hotel.
The ringleader of the three women introduces herself as Daniella, then turns to her two friends and says, “Look at this hottie, gals!”
Gals? Grace thinks. That term is straight out of 1977. It makes Grace think of Farrah Fawcett Majors, the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, and Charlie perfume (everyone staying in the hotel that year wore it).
The other two women are Claire (frumpy) and Alison (hippie-dippie). Claire tells Zeke that the three of them are from Florida and have come to the island to “whoop it up.” (Again Grace wonders, Who says that anymore?) It’s Daniella’s fiftieth birthday—and they’re also celebrating Daniella’s shiny new divorce.
“I’m on the prowl!” Daniella crows. “Like only a woman who lost her orthodontist husband to one of his patients’ mothers can be.” Daniella is tall with ringlets of black hair down to her waist and a wide mouth. She’s a not-quite Cher.
Oh, dear, Grace thinks. She sees trouble barreling down on Zeke like a freight train.
Zeke delivers the ladies’ bags to suite 117 and displays its wonders—the sound system, the electric shades, the complimentary minibar. Daniella hands Zeke a hundred-dollar bill and asks him to stay for a beer.
“Thank you so much for the offer, ladies, but I’m on the clock for another five hours, so I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“We expect to see you later,” Daniella says. She squeezes Zeke’s biceps through his hydrangea-blue button-down. “Look at these guns!”
Alison, who has frizzled gray-blond hair and is wearing a tie-dyed sundress, shrieks, “Dani-ella!” Claire, who wears glasses and mom jeans, blinks at Zeke and says, “You are quite the snack,” which actually makes Zeke laugh.
But he hightails it out of there.
Grace is relieved that Zeke gets off work before the ladies leave their room, buzzed from the bottle of Laurent-Perrier rosé they ordered from the Blue Bar, and head out to dinner at Lola. Claire briefly tries to flirt with Raoul, asking if he’s taken, and Raoul deadpans perfectly that yes, he’s married to Adam, the day bellman. That shuts them up!
The next morning, Grace sees Zeke arrive at the hotel not in his uniform, as usual, but in workout clothes. He heads down to the yoga studio…and Grace follows. There are eight or nine women stretching, in anticipation of Yolanda’s barre class. When Yolanda takes her place at the front of the room, Grace sees Zeke melt a little.
Aha.
Grace can hardly blame him. Twenty-seven-year-old Yolanda Tolentino looks like Chrissy Teigen’s little sister; she has tousled dark hair highlighted auburn, flawless skin, big brown eyes, and a deep dimple in her left cheek. Her body is trim, limber, flexible. Over the past few weeks, Grace has seen Yolanda sail through the lobby. Once, she stopped to talk to Lizbet and held a tree pose—foot tucked against opposite knee, hands held over her head like branches—which was unusual but also impressive. Another time, Yolanda was waiting for the elevator and executed a full-on backbend, which caused Mr. Goldfarb from room 202 to hiccup in surprise. Yolanda, Grace is happy to report, is as lovely on the inside as she is on the outside. And she must eat like a horse—she’s back and forth between the yoga studio and the kitchen of the Blue Bar half a dozen times a day.
When Yolanda sees Zeke, she hurries over to get him set up at the barre with a ball, a looped resistance band, and two-pound hand weights.
“Um…” Zeke says, looking at the tiny lavender weights. “I’ve held burritos that weigh more than this.”
“Feel free to switch them out for heavier ones,” Yolanda says. “Just remember, I warned you. And unfortunately, I don’t have any grippy socks that will fit you.”
“Big feet,” says a woman just walking in. It’s Daniella; she’s followed by Alison and Claire. “We know what that means, don’t we, gals?”
No, this won’t do, Grace thinks. She blows cold air down the back of Daniella’s neck, and as she does so, she inhales the unmistakable scent of last night’s tequila. Daniella doesn’t notice the draft; possibly, she welcomes it. When Claire and Alison spot Zeke, they start furiously whispering.
Grace is embarrassed for them. She has seen fourteen-year-olds with more composure.
“Zeke is a barre virgin!” Daniella cries out. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you, Zeke, admiring your form.”
“Me too,” Alison says. She’s wearing leggings printed with rainbows and peace signs.
“I’m moving closer,” Claire says. She has on a T-shirt that reads I DATE EVERYBODY.
Yolanda starts the music. “Ladies, let’s try to focus.” She lifts her leg while crossing her arms in front of her chest. Zeke follows suit; he can’t lift his leg very high at all, or maybe he can but he’s simply too enraptured by Yolanda, in her white leggings and her hydrangea-blue tank, with her hair in a thick braid hanging over one shoulder, to try very hard.
Leg lifts transition to planks on the yoga mats, followed by push-ups. Grace watches Zeke do all this with ease. When the class moves to the barre, Yolanda says, “Who’s ready for a thigh party?”