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I cross the road and walk past the coffee shop directly in front of the hotel. Then I turn onto a side street. The traffic is slower here, with fewer people on the sidewalks. My destination is about seventeen minutes away. I can feel the heat rising into my chest, my legs burning as I force them onward. But no matter.Where there’s a will, there’s a way,as Gran liked to say.
I pass a first-floor office where workers have assembled and are seated in rows, listening to a man in a suit who is gesticulating wildly in front of a podium. Charts and graphs appear on a screen behind him. I smile to myself. I know just what it’s like to be a proud employee fortunate enough to be receiving professional development. I look forward to Mr. Snow’s next professional-development day about a month from now.
I have never understood why some staff members complain about these events, as if they’re some kind of imposition, as if self-improvement and the chance to receive a free education on guest services and hotel hygiene isn’t a bonus of employment at the Regency Grand. I relish such opportunities, especially given that I was unable to pursue my dream of a post-secondary education in hotel management and hospitality. This is a bad thought, an unwelcome thought. I see Wilbur’s face flash in my mind and I have a sudden desire to punch it. But you can’t punch a thought. Or if you can, it does little to change reality.
My stomach rumbles as I walk. I have no lunch, didn’t pack one in the morning as I have so little in the cupboards and could barely eat breakfast anyway. I had hoped to find some perfectly untouched crackers and perhaps a small pot of unopened jam left on a breakfast tray outside one of the rooms, maybe even a piece of fruit that I could wash and discreetly tuck away. But alas, today’s guests have left me very little.In total, my tips are $20.45, which is certainly something, but not enough to placate an angry landlord or fill a fridge with anything but a few scant basics. Never mind.
The honey comes from the hive. The bees tend to the honey.
It’s Mr. Snow’s voice in my head this time. On the last professional-development day, he covered a most important topic: How the Hive Mentality Creates Greater Productivity. I took notes in a fresh, new journal, and I have studied the details at length. In his hour-long lecture, Mr. Snow talked about teamwork, using a most compelling analogy to do so.
“Think of this hotel as a hive,” he said as he looked out at his staff over his owl glasses. I was listening intently to his words. “And think of yourselves as bees.”
I wrote in my notebook:Think of yourself as a bee.
Mr. Snow continued. “We are a team, a unit, a family, a colony. When we adopt a hive mentality, it means we are all working toward the greater good, the greater good of the hotel. Like bees, we recognize the importance of the hotel, our hive. We must cultivate it, clean it, care for it, because we know that without it, there will be no honey. In my notebook:hotel = hive; hive = honey.
At this point, Mr. Snow’s lecture took a most surprising turn. “Now,” he said, gripping both hands on the podium in front of him, “Let us consider the hierarchy of roles within the hive and the importance of all bees, regardless of rank, working to the best of their bee-bilities. There are supervisory bees (here, he straightened his tie) and there are worker bees. There are bees that serve others directly and there are bees that serve indirectly. But no bee is more important than any other bee, do you understand?”
Mr. Snow’s hands balled into fists to highlight the importance of this last point. I was scribbling furiously, recording every word as best I could, when suddenly Mr. Snow pointed at me in the crowd.
“Take, for instance, the example of a maid. She could be any maid, anywhere. Within our hotel, she is our perfect worker bee. She toils and travails to ready each honeycomb for the arrival of honey. This is aphysically demanding job. It’s exhausting and mind-numbingly repetitive, and yet, she takes pride in her work; she does it well each and every day. Her work is largely invisible. But does this make her lesser than the drones or the queen? Does this make her less significant to the hive? No! The truth is that without the worker bee, we have no hive. We cannot function without her!”
Mr. Snow pounded the podium to underline his point. I looked around and saw many eyes upon me. Sunshine and Sunitha, who were in the row in front of me, had turned and were smiling and waving at me. Cheryl, who was a few seats away, was leaning back, her eyes slits, her arms crossed. Rodney and some of the waitresses from the Social were behind me, and as I turned to look over my shoulder, they whispered to one another, laughing at some joke I’d missed.
All around, employees I knew (but most of whom had never spoken to me) were looking my way.
Mr. Snow continued. “We have much to improve upon in this organization. And I’m increasingly becoming aware that our hive does not always operate as a cohesive unit. We create honey for our guests to enjoy, but sometimes, the sweetness is skimmed off the top and isn’t shared equitably. Some of our hive is used nefariously, for personal gain rather than for the common good….”
At this, I stopped taking notes because Cheryl began dry coughing in a very distracting manner. I turned around once more and saw Rodney sinking into his chair.
Mr. Snow carried on. “I’m here to remind you that you’re all better than that, that we can strive for something more together. That our hive can be the greatest, fittest, cleanest, most luxurious hive of any bees anywhere. But it will take cohesion and cooperation. It will take a commitment to the hive mentality. I’m asking you to help the colony, for the colony. I want you to think about pristine professionalism. Polished poise. I want you toclean this place up!”
At this point, I bounded out of my chair and onto my feet. I had fully expected that the entire staff would recognize Mr. Snow’s glorious conclusion and would spontaneously burst into applause. But I was theonly one on my feet. I was standing alone in a room that was pin-drop silent. I felt myself turn to stone. I knew I should probably sit, but I couldn’t. I was frozen. Stuck.
I stayed that way for a very long time. Mr. Snow remained at the podium for a minute or two. Then he straightened his glasses, grabbed his speech, and marched back to his office. Once he was gone, my coworkers shifted in their seats and started talking among themselves. I could hear the whispers all around me. Did they actually think I couldn’t?
Molly the Mutant.
Roomba the Robot.
The Formality Freak.
Eventually, the reception-desk penguins and porters, the waitresses and valets got up in their little cliques and began to drift away. I remained where I was until I was the last bee in the room.
“Molly?” I heard behind me. I felt a familiar hand on my arm. “Molly, are you quite all right?”
I turned and saw Mr. Preston standing in front of me. I searched his face for clues. Was he friend or foe? Sometimes this happens. I’ll freeze for a moment because everything I’ve ever learned is gone. Erased.
“It wasn’t about you,” he said.
“I’m sorry?” I replied.
“What Mr. Snow was saying about how this hotel might not be so squeaky clean, how some employees skim off the top. That wasn’t about you, Molly. There are things happening in this hotel, things even I don’t fully understand. But you don’t have to worry about that. Everyone knows you do your best every day.”
“But they don’t respect me. I don’t think my coworkers like me at all.”
He was holding his cap in his hand. He sighed and looked down at it. “I respect you. And I like you very much.”
