July 1991: I Get No Respect

I’m in the second grade. We’re doing fractions in math class. I’m sniffling and in the midst of sniffles, I think of something so funny I want to share it with my classmates. I raise my hand. Yes, says the teacher. “My nose is running,” I say. “Can I catch it?” “You run your nose right down to the principal’s office,” she says.

The principal lectures and scolds me. He tells me never to behave that way again. Or else.

I was in a hotel the other day where I was treated as if I were back in the second grade.

“We have smoking and no-smoking rooms,” the front desk says. “I prefer no-smoking,” I say.

This is not a rates-by-the-hour motel. This is a decent high-rise hotel overlooking a spectacular gorge, patronized by people who can afford the extravagant rates to stay here.

Once in my room, I spot this table tent perched atop the TV. It is the hotel’s version of the principal’s lecture. It is what I’m going to start calling the Or Else threat of hospitality management. Simply stated, Or Else is when you challenge guests with non-negotiable policies they perceive as threats.  No kidding. 


Or Else.

“THANK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING,” uppercases the table tent. “If smoking takes place, $200 will be charged to defray our costs of scrubbing walls and furnishings, shampooing the carpet and dry cleaning drapes and bed spreads.”

That’s what the table tent says, word for word.

Holy smoke! This is the first time, in all my travels, I’ve seen such a notice. I’m a pretty calm guy under normal circumstances but this, I realize, is no idle threat. This hotel means business. I check the room for smoke detectors; for minicams that might record every move I make. I look for matches, for ashtrays. Perhaps this is a trick: the hotel wants me to smoke; a trick to trap guests into subsidizing the housekeeping payroll. I begin to hallucinate: I need a cigarette.

I rush down to the lobby, bum a smoke from a bellman. I’m convinced I’m being watched as I walk from the lobby to the lounge which is where I’m thinking about lighting up. My eyes dart about the room searching for no-smoking signs. I see none; I light up. Employees are shampooing carpets, scrubbing walls, cleaning drapes. It is a cleaning frenzy. I break out into a cold sweat.

I approach the front desk. “I’d like to switch to smoking.” Very well, says the front desk manager, but there will be an added charge of $200 a day to defray . . . .”

Don’t get me wrong: hotels and restaurants are within their rights to protect and maintain their properties and their bottom lines and to make sure their customers are happy and well taken care of. It’s the way they go about all of this that bothers me.

Here’s another Or Else that’s relatively harmless. It’s a waiver guests are asked to sign when checking into the Marriott in Orlando—not any old Marriott or versions thereof.  This Marriott is a luxurious resort hotel where rack rates are rather steep. “I have requested weekday delivery of USA Today,” says waiver. “If refused, a credit of 25 cents will be applied to my room account.”

I don’t want USA Today. I refuse it. Furthermore, I don’t like at all the hotel’s assumption that it can, shall we say, nickel and dime my daily folio if I don’t refuse delivery. But, let us not quibble. I take advantage of the moment to inform the front desk that, at considerable personal expense, I have brought my own soap, shampoo, conditioner, suntan lotion, cotton balls, Q-tips, sewing kit, quickie shoe polish rag, comb, nail file, shoehorn, Kleenex, shower cap, toilet paper and potpourri; and would management be so kind as to remove all of the equivalent stuff from my room and credit its market value to my account.

Here are some more Or Else demands that border on the absurd; most misfire, triggering confusion and apprehension that often lead to confrontation or, occasionally (as you will see), gunfire. For instance:

No shirt, no shoes, no service. Desserts may not be shared. Two drink minimum. Valet parking only. Tie and jacket required. An 18-percent service charge added to parties of six or more. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Cash only; no credit cards. Bread and butter charge: $3. No split orders.

Good grief!

I’m not about to quarrel with a hotel’s business commandments. I will, however quarrel with the way it communicates them to its guests. Most are communicated, as noted, unconditionally, implying some sort of punishment if guests violate them.

My wife and I are at a restaurant. I order some pie. She wants a teeny bite. I point to The Commandment on the menu, Desserts May Not Be Shared. “Oh, come on,” she says, “Nobody’s watching.” I give her a teeny bite. The waiter shoots her.

Or else photo; PathDoc

Footnote: A version of this essay appeared in the Cleveland Jewish News in 2009.