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Posts tagged ‘The Inn at Spanish Bay’

My Stint as a Concierge – Part 2

The beautiful young woman with long, dark hair stood with her large breasts resting on the counter of the concierge desk. When I looked up, her plunging neckline and erect nipples were staring me in the face. No, I haven’t started writing erotica. If so, that would have been a terrible stab at it. She handed me an earring and a large gemstone and said, “Can you fix this?” She reached up and put her hair behind the ear that was wearing the match to the broken one. “Can I have the one on your ear so I can look at it?” I asked. She took it off and handed it to me. I studied them both. I wasn’t a jeweler, but it appeared to be costume jewelry so I wasn’t too worried about saying, “I can crazy glue it.” She smiled and said she’d be back for it in an hour.

She was a prostitute hired by the Los Angeles Bond Club (bail bondsmen) to accompany a group of about 30 men to the hotel for the weekend. It was just she and one other girl. The men were there for their annual convention (golf/drinking/sex with hookers), and what was left in their wake were stories the staff would talk about for months, especially the Housekeeping Department.

Being a concierge was an interesting job. If you got the right gig, it could be very lucrative and you could be dialed in to everything going on, especially in a big city. The perks can be phenomenal. Later on in my husband’s career, he was managing a hotel in Los Angeles where we benefited greatly from the relationships the hotel concierge had fostered. But that was a little different from the job at Spanish Bay. A posh golf resort wasn’t the same as a big city hotel because of all the things a big city has to offer. Still, you never knew what would be thrown at you. For the most part, it’s talking about where to go and what to do and what to eat and scheduling dinner reservations and massages and babysitters and tee times, etc., etc., but occasionally you are hit a little sideways with requests that leave you slightly speechless while you process how best to accommodate.

Like the time a 40-something year old woman, who was very plain and soft-spoken walked up to the desk and stated that she had forgotten her compact at home. First I said, “Did you check the gift shop? We have some cosmetics there.” She said, “Yes, but you don’t carry Clinique.” I thought, So what the hell do you expect me to do about it, run to Macy’s for you? I hesitated, then said, “If you can tell me the shade, I can send a porter to Macy’s.” A month or so later, I found out this woman was a “secret shopper” hired by hotel management and in her report she described our interaction to the letter. It went something like this, “Jodee was very pleasant and helpful with getting the compact I told her I forgot at home, though there was a slight initial hesitation.”

On very busy days, the concierge staff would have to jump in and do some of the porter duties. Occasionally I parked cars. I once drove a Bentley to a parking spot. I also drove a 20-something passenger bus more than once. The first time the doorman came in and said, “Jodee, I need to you shuttle a group to The Lodge,” I said, “No way. I can’t drive that big bus.” Yes, you can,” he said. So I did. It was full of a group of golfers from Japan who spoke very little English, but tried to ask me questions while I held their lives in my hands and in that bus. It went okay, and truth be told, I often volunteered to drive the bus even though I don’t think I was legally supposed to. I seem to recall a special license (?), but maybe not.

On another busy day, the doorman walked in holding the elbow of a man holding an ice pack to the side of his head. “Jodee, I need you to take Mr. White to the ER.” He had been hit in the head with a golf ball and was actually knocked out briefly. He refused an ambulance, but the hotel insisted he get checked out. As I was getting in the driver’s seat of the hotel Town Car, the doorman whispered, “Don’t let him fall asleep.” That poor man. I talked his ear off and asked him questions the entire drive to the hospital. I could tell he was annoyed. I finally said, “I’m not supposed to let you fall asleep.” He said, “I know.”

I mentioned in the first part of the story that my immediate supervisor, David, would become my second husband in less than a year. So yeah, that was going on; his trying to “court” me, and me resisting (initially). He made it pretty clear from the beginning that he was interested, though he was always professional. I recall him saying, “There’s something I really want to ask you, but I’m not sure I should.” I said, “You want to ask me out?” He said, “No, I want to ask you to marry me and have my children.” I laughed and walked away. I had a crush on the bartender in the Lobby Lounge. I was once hiding behind the bar having a coke or something when I heard David walk up and ask the bartender if he had seen me. He said, “no.” That was my cue to go out the back door of the bar and run as quickly as I could through the back hallways to the employee lounge and act like nothing.

Eventually he won me over so we went to Tahoe and got married. Within two weeks, the General Manager of the hotel called David in and said, “I don’t think Jodee should be working here now that she is your wife.” And that was end of my stint as a concierge.

My Stint as a Concierge


My friend Renee called me one day and asked if I would be interested in working as a concierge at The Inn at Spanish Bay. “I don’t think so,” I said. I was working as the daytime bartender at the Monterey Plaza Hotel at the time and I liked my job. Renee and I did some part-time modeling together and in the relatively short time I had lived on the Monterey Peninsula, I considered her my closest friend. I was recently separated from my first husband and things weren’t easy, but my little boy and I were settling into life in a one bedroom apartment a few blocks from the beach. “John is recruiting,” Renee said. John was Renee’s husband. He was in the hotel business and if I took the job as concierge, he would be my boss. He was a great guy, but the thought of changing jobs during such an unsettling time in my life sounded like more than I wanted to deal with.

A month or so later, John called me himself. “Come on, Jodee, just come down to the hotel and let me show you around and tell you about the job.” I agreed. The Inn at Spanish Bay hadn’t been open too long and was part of the Pebble Beach Resorts family. The historical Lodge at Pebble Beach was (is) its sister property. Both are located on the world famous 17-Mile Drive and both have world class golf courses. It was beautiful. The resort itself wooed me. When John and I finished walking the property and talking about the job, I was smitten. It didn’t hurt that he timed my visit with sunset, and the bagpiper who plays and pairs beautifully with that time of day.

A concierge takes care of a hotel guest’s every need, though you aren’t required to break the law, and you can refuse to help a guest if they ask you to cross the line, though that line is never actually spelled out. Of course you aren’t allowed inside of a guest’s room, other than the short time you are pointing out the workings of their room after you have escorted them to it. You see, that was how Spanish Bay had this position structured. You were either one of two employees behind the concierge desk, or you were posted in the lobby awaiting arrivals. If that happened to be you, the front desk clerk would introduce you by name, “Mr. Jones, this is Jodee. She is going to escort you to your room, tell you about the hotel, and answer any questions you may have.” But I’m jumping ahead.

We didn’t have bellmen. We had porters. Porters would be posted outside as hotel guests pulled up to the porte-cochère. The hotel was set back from the road. There was a guard gate at the entrance. The person working in the guard gate would inquire whether the person entering the property was checking into the hotel and if they were, the gate person would call the doorman and let them know that Mr. Jones was on his way up in a blue Mercedes. Mr. Jones would then be greeted by name by the doorman and then whisked to the front desk clerk and introduced where he would promptly get checked in before being handed off to (a concierge) me. Mr. Jones would always inquire about the car and his bags, but he would be told not to worry about that. While one porter was parking his car, another porter was already on his way to the room to drop off the luggage before we arrived, and when he is surprised to see his luggage and inquires about tipping, he is told that a 15% gratuity is added onto his folio so he is not to tip anywhere in the hotel other than the restaurants and lounges. Sometimes guests would push cash into your hands and not take “no” for an answer, but you would never know if they were a spy so you tried to resist as best you could. Not taking “no” for an answer was a pretty good clue that they weren’t hired by management to “secret shop” on your ass.

My second husband, David, was my immediate supervisor. He was John’s assistant manager. I didn’t know he was going to be my second husband when I met him, but he would become that in less than a year’s time. My first day on the job was shadowing David as he told (and showed) me everything about the hotel. It was crucial to the job that I know everything about the hotel, the restaurants, the company, etc. We also drove over to The Lodge at Pebble Beach because I had to be familiar with that property as well. My one standout memory of that day was when we were driving to The Lodge and I told David about my son Jarrod, who was five at the time, wanting to change his name to Arnold. David laughed to tears.

To be continued…

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