We stayed four nights in an expensive hotel on the beach in Central California. Every night, I slept fitfully in a luxurious bed with the ocean waves rolling right outside our sliding glass door. It was heaven near the sea.
As we left our room each day, we said “Good Morning” to Lili, our maid, who cleaned all the rooms on our floor. She spent about 45 minutes to an hour in each guest room—picking up the wet towels, wiping down the shower doors, polishing the faucets, making up the king-size beds, vacuuming, cleaning the coffee pot, arranging soaps and shampoos near the tub and at the sink, and moving the patio furniture back into place.
I had read Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America by Barbara Ehrenreich so I knew that hotel maids earned minimum wages or not much higher. When I saw Lili’s envelope on the dresser after her first cleaning, I thought about the book and made a note to leave a tip at the end of our stay. Meanwhile, we wished Lili a good morning each day before she came in to clean our room. When we came back each afternoon before dinner, our room was immaculate and inviting—an oasis by the sea, the waves making music just outside.
On the morning we were packing up to leave, I saw her tip envelope again. “Let’s leave a tip for the maid,” I said to my husband, a retired, successful man.
“I don’t usually tip the maid,” he quipped.
“We should,” I said. I went to my wallet and found a twenty-dollar bill. While I was slipping it into the envelope, my husband handed me a ten-dollar bill. “No, I’ve got it,” I said.
I tucked the envelope’s flap inside and carried it with my luggage down the hall until I found Lili’s cleaning cart outside of another room.
“Lili, I have a tip for you,” I stated across the open room where she was arranging the curtains.
Lili’s face registered total surprise. She walked up to me and took the envelope with two hands. “Thank you so much.” She didn’t seem to get too many tips. I wanted to watch her open the envelope to see her reaction, but I thanked her again for her wonderful work and continued down the hall with my husband.
As we were walking out to the front entrance, we decided that I would go get the car that was parked in the lot up the hill and drive it to the front where my husband would wait with the luggage.
When we got to the open door, the parking valet wished us a good morning. “You were here four months ago, weren’t you?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m Sean. I thought I recognized you.”
My husband proceeded to chitchat with Sean while I got the car. By the time I came back with the car, he had found out that Sean had two sons and Sean coached both of them in soccer. Since my husband had been an athlete and a coach for our sons, he enjoyed this conversation quite a bit.
Sean put our two suitcases and two other bags into the trunk for us. He also got us a bottle of cold water to take on our drive home. My husband tipped him outside while I waited in the driver’s seat.
When he got in the passenger seat, I asked my husband how much he tipped Sean.
“Six dollars.”
“What? For only a little conversation and lifting four items? At the most, he was with you for ten minutes.”
“He was a good guy,” my spouse said.
I’m sure he is a great guy, but I’m curious as to why Lili didn’t get the same equal treatment. The inequality built into the exclusive hotel system left a cruel impression.
Tessa M. Perko's Blog 