**This article was published anonymously to protect the identity of the writer**
Stunning skies and an always certain picturesque view encompass an empire of a hotel property, almost as if nothing could ever stop it from being so beautiful. Located in the perfect coordinates, with a romanticized small town to the right, and a boardwalk that’s even more romanticized than the small town to the left. It is quaint, majestic, magical, and cozy, and at the same time, has anything the 47 people who live in this romanticized small town could ever need. It is the mecca of TV-Movie storytelling, and being employed at this goddess of a property is only a dream in this perfect fantasy: because that’s exactly what this is.
Hotels like these, as well as their work experiences, are few and far between, if they even are in the first place. Because working in a hotel does not mean that every guest encounter is casual. It does not mean that there is only one boss, one small front desk, and ten rooms to care for. And it certainly does not mean that there is little work time, with lots of freedom and a perfect group of friends to pass that free time with. Hotel work is infinite, exhausting, and utterly complex, and no TV-network movie can convince me otherwise, because actually working in one has proven all these instances to me.
Hotel work is infinite. While many have the concept of a 24 hour business, it is certainly not felt until being a part of that 24 hour business. I had my first experience with this a week into working there. It was overall a good shift, training had just come to a completion. And on top of my chipper mood and actually getting out at the right time, Disney fireworks were lighting my way to my car. Being in such a light-hearted mood, I leaned back on my car for a minute only to join reality and see two people waiting for my parking spot, eyes darting between the clock and myself, their overnight minutes away. After this moment, I started to take in all the people who were putting on uniforms in the parking lot as I was untucking my shirt to head home for a bowl of soup. But overnights are not the only gem in a never ending business. Holidays also add into the chaos. The time when mostly everybody gets to relax is when I start prepping to run around more than before. Holidays are a like war battle, prepping golf carts like tanks and side stations like machine guns. And the war does not only exist with guests, but with co-workers. Wanting a holiday makes me feel like a sinner, like I am betraying everyone for simply wanting to see my family. But when work doesn’t have an off switch, neither do its employers.
Hotel work is exhausting. Physically, mentally emotionally. Let’s begin with the basics: there’s no sitting. Obviously. If I’m sitting, light me on fire, because there’s a problem. Every guest needs me instantly. If I’m grabbing them cheese, that cheese needs to be the most important item to my being. I must pray to the cheese, worship the cheese, be the cheese. If I refuse to break one of my work policies to get this cheese, then I am doing the guest a dishonor and a disservice. And right after I am done handling that cheese, there are about 100 more guests with 100 different things, until there is simply nothing left. And while I am physically drained trying to keep them happy, I am mentally drained trying to keep my co-workers happy. Everybody’s so tired running around for cheese that when something goes wrong, it’s hard to make it through the shift without some angry words and a lot of complaints from both ends. And while everyone else can come back and handle the same cheese, I do not have the same type of skin. I still remember those cruel words. I still remember the lying and the backstabbing. And frankly, I’m surprised it’s so easy for everyone else to forget.
And while it goes without saying, hotel work is complex. There is no constant, whether it be with guests, our menu, the seasons, and the events going on around us. Guests’ questions are never the same, their wants become more unique, and their demands become less understandable. And while in one shift there is barely room to breathe, the next day no one will enter the restaurant for the first hour. Without ever truly knowing what could happen, it can be hard to keep up. And while all this sounds like it could fit into one really long, angry, fancy, Facebook status, I would be lying if I said I didn’t love our property. Because while working in a hotel can be infinite, exhausting, and complex, it can be knowledge, impressive, and rewarding. I meet a different person from a different state who has a different job and did a different thing from somebody else every time I work. I know more about beer, wine, grains, meat, sauces, vegetables, eggs, and of course cheese, than I ever did before. And when people see our name on TripAdvisor, it is hard not to bat an eye. But most of all, coming home tired, knowing that I served good food to (sometimes) good people, is better than working in an empty romanticized hotel in an empty romanticized small town. Because it’s real. And there’s no way to make the real stuff up-you just have to experience it.