One of the greatest and most fun things about being a bellman, is working with other bellmen. It’s a brotherhood.
Growing up, I always wanted to be part of a brotherhood. To be part of a group of guys that shared common interests and supported each other.
In college, I even joined a fraternity to fulfill this desire, but soon learned that the fraternity experience was far from a true brotherhood.
But as my working days at the hotel continued, I began to feel a sense of unity from fellow bellmen. Most of us were involved in entertainment some way: acting, writing, music, modeling. I initially thought this is where we shared a common ground. But there were also bellmen who had nothing to do with entertainment.
Our common ground was the hustle. Overcoming the struggle. The pursuit of dreams and doing anything to achieve those dreams.
There was always at least one bellman on a shift who would hear you out. Listen to your dreams, struggles or worries and simply listen. Or, even better, lift your spirits up.
There are so many ways we bonded.
We would talk about women. Sometimes, as they walked past the front door on the busy New York street, bellmen would holler their latest discovery over the radio. We’d debate who’s fine and whose fugly. We’d debate who’d make a good wife and who would simply be a good lay. Was Giselle really the hottest woman in the world or was it Vida? And then we usually would talk trash about each other’s taste in women.
One of the funniest things I ever heard was when a fellow bellman said, “You like the girls with baggy thongs,” indicating my choice in women usually consisted of those with flat butts. That one caused quite a stir amongst bellmen. It took me several months to prove myself when I walked in to work with a full-figured Mexican gal to prove my taste.
Every day we would talk about the entertainment industry. Topics ranged from classes, auditions, booking jobs, working on projects, who’s skipping out on work to pursue the dream, etc. We would share our dreams of that starring role on Broadway or in an upcoming film — all of us hoping that pay day was soon around the corner. We would even spontaneously make up skits about auditions and Oscar speeches. In a split second, you would be informed by your fellow bellman if you were destined to be a successful actor or failed one. “Don’t call us , we’ll call you.” You never knew how the skit was going to be played out. It was so much fun! I felt like a little kid again.
Of course we would talk about sports, too. One of the guys reminded me of my dad, because that was all he talked about. It was Jeter this and Jeter that. “Hey, did you hear about Jeter?” “Hey papa, what about those Mets?” “Did you fucking see what Brett Favre did last night?” Some of the guys would even share betting advice as they laid down a few hundred bucks for their bookies.
And then we had rituals. Getting breakfast in the morning at Whole Foods — oatmeal and organic coffee for $376.23. Or at the bagel vendor on the street corner — bagel and a coffee for $1.50.
Then at lunch, “Who wants the salad or the sandwich today?” “Going to Starbucks, what do you want?” “Just brought back a dozen oatmeal raisin cookies from Whole Foods, come and get em.”
A lot of times, we would skip buying and eat the leftovers from catered events in the hotel.
Most hotels have event spaces where they throw meetings and parties. Typically, at the end of these, there is a large amount of very good food that goes into the trash can. By law, hotels can’t donate this food to the homeless. If the homeless get sick from said food, it could lead to a fat lawsuit against the hotel.
So, we as bellman knew the catering schedule times to a T. Within a minute of the events ending, we would sprint to the meeting floor and eagerly wait for banquet servers to bring the food behind closed doors. Then we grabbed what we could like rabid dogs before it was thrust into the wastebasket. The true life of the hustle. If a bellman was missing out, we would then share over the radio the sweetness of such food as it hit our palates.
We would go out to dinner and get drunk together. We did this both on and off the clock. I’m telling you these were like your brothers. One St. Patrick’s Day, four of us snuck down to an Irish Pub and had a few Irish car bombs. Minutes later we got a call for bellmen assistance, and ran back to work as if nothing had happened. It was a wild run in New York.
Like little boys, we played catch with the football in the middle of busy New York streets. We played mock baseball with a branch as a bat, and crumpled paper as a ball. We ran after each other, tackled each other, punched each other. Brothers.
And like all brothers, we fought, made up, wrestled, played, taught, forgave, questioned, learned from, supported, scorned, built up, tore down, and cheered…
Guys from all walks of life, working together, supporting each other, and living a pretty wild life.