Musings on...Becoming Royal(ish)
That One Time We Were Trained to be of the Manor Born
Welcome to a new episode of Adventures in Workland! This essay series was inspired by a frustrating attempt to condense decades of work experience to a one-page resume. I realized resumes are flat and lifeless representations of the vivid stories, relationships and lessons that make one a valuable part of the workforce. In this series, I will illuminate the staid bullet points and job descriptions, animating them into the full dimensional glory they deserve. I hope my stories will make you reflect and honor the value of your employment history as well. Algorithms, bots and job board filters have it wrong: You are more than the sum of your job descriptions.
I have experienced world class training from some of the best companies in the world. In college, there were internships at General Motors and Comerica Bank. After 3 intense weeks at the Pfizer training facility, I went from no medical knowledge to the ability to confidently converse with medical professionals. I remember calling my husband and telling him how much knowledge had been crammed in our brains and knowing that I could bore people senseless at parties with pharma jargon. The food and wine knowledge I received in the hospitality industry was top notch. I speak fluent foodie. I shared my trial by fire training in the mortgage industry, but there is one bit of training I never saw coming. In fact, I didn’t know it existed.
I am trained and certified to be a butler in royal residences y’all. Yup, your girl can serve heads of states, be a household manager for the superrich, work in an FBO, a high-end resort or serve on a superyacht.
I am as surprised as you. How did this happen for me? As is my most consistent modus operandi, I stumbled into it. A few months into the pandemic quarantine, after I had read all my back issues of magazines and came to the end of Netflix, I began to feel a little antsy. Thank God for the unemployment subsidies, but it didn’t match my pre-pandemic earnings and I needed to do something, I wanted to do anything. It may sound crazy to those that don’t believe in intuition, serendipity or fateful providence, but one day I thought to call one of my co-workers. We had been in contact as the furlough droned on, but that day I felt compelled to call one person specifically. I called, checking in on his family and making small talk. As soon as the pleasantries were over, he said he knew of an opportunity if I wanted to work. Umm, yeah. A former manager was recruiting for a new private member’s club. He wanted any referrals, especially people from the fine-dining restaurant we were furloughed from. Numbers were exchanged, resume emailed, and I’m dressed to interview later that afternoon.
In America, we understand the country club membership model. In Europe, England particularly, there is the tradition of the private men’s club. Less sports specific, more lifestyle-oriented, a men’s club offers a place to relax and make connections. The owners were trying to infuse a little English aristocracy into our tropical locale. It would be a haven for a younger membership offering posh surroundings to relax (and party) in an exclusive environment. A private and insulated Vegas if you get my meaning. If the concept was not intriguing enough, the employees, all culled from the best restaurants in the city (everyone was furloughed and available) would be trained as butlers in the English tradition.
Employment contract signed, I’m fitted for my uniform and begin orientation. Our training is to take place over 4 weeks while the club is undergoing renovations. We are put into the hands of The British Butler’s Institute, used at luxury hotels, royal palaces, embassies and dignitaries' homes all over the world. The goal is to equip us to service a high net-worth membership. That’s the proper term ‘high net-worth'. The owners want to merge our American friendliness with the proper arm's length propriety of British high society. We were to be friendly, but not familiar; attentive, but not hovering. We should hear, but not actively listen. We had to learn how to turn a blind eye to indiscretions while also keeping a side eye to ensure safety and decorum. We needed to be experts in the finest aspects of food, wine, spirits, cigars, teas, cars and fashion, but still remain approachable and down to earth. We needed to speak their language, but keep our mouths shut.
It is hard to describe the world wind of those 4 weeks. The first thing we had to endure was the daily line up. This is a routine in all households, high-end hotels or resorts, or at least it happens at the ones trained by The Institute. The staff lines up and the head butler reviews everyone’s appearance and uniform. We did not have our uniforms yet, but we practiced it anyway. You may not know this, but most restaurant workers do not own a wardrobe of business attire. We usually wear ‘costumes’ or some uniform that encompasses a shirt, pants, maybe a vest and an apron. So that first line up-particularly for the men, was humorous. It was a motley collection of suit jackets and slacks thrown together as a unit. To make matters worse, many were not at fighting weight after months of quarantine. Servers easily walk more than 10,000 steps a day and the effect of the quarantine hiatus was visible. Those blazer buttons were straining to stay closed. The females fared a slightly better, since our dark dresses or skirts were more forgiving.
The head butler walks down the line and critiques every aspect of your look. Unruly haircuts, too fashionable earrings, visible tattoos, scuffed shoes and worn heels. Unstarched shirt collars, belts that didn’t match or had audacious buckles. Pockets not lying flat, too long or too short pant hems, improperly colored socks, missing buttons. Nothing escaped the glance of our instructor. 48 hours later, the ladies' buns were tightly jelled into place and the men stood ramrod straight. We were giving our best Downton Abby mood and ready to learn. Steam irons and lint brushes stood at the ready if needed.
The training was a masterclass in the intricacies of serving a discriminating, worldly clientele. We were all veterans from the top restaurants in the city and brought a wealth of hospitality industry knowledge, but we were taken deeper into the minutiae of luxury service. We actually spent one entire day (8 hours), learning and practicing how to hand things to a member and take things from them. Did you know there is a difference in the way you offer a pen or business card to an American or European than to a Japanese person? There is, and I can execute it in my sleep.
We spent half a day learning how to open and close a door for a member. The other half was how to properly remove and replace a coat or suit jacket as a valet. The next day was how to place a napkin in a lap. Everything was a science and a precise protocol.
One of our favorite days was when the company Bentley was brought on location, to make sure we were familiar with its’ appointments and able to execute an airport run. It’s very important to know how to offer champagne and pour it properly in a moving car. One must know how to get a member to a helipad and how to circumvent traffic.
We spent every day immersed in the life and psyche of our high net worth membership. What they expected, how they liked to be treated. Our instructor would regale us with stories of his clientele around the world. The sheiks, the moneyed moguls, the landed gentry and anyone with money in between. We heard of their parties, the beach picnics for their excursions from the superyachts. How they like to give and receive the most obscure presents, because what do you give or receive when money is no object? We learned how to remember a member’s preferences, favorite drinks and not only their preferred newspaper, but how to iron that newspaper to prevent ink on anyone’s hands.
Speaking of dirt and being soiled, we learned how to remove stains from suede shoes to linen blazers and fur, if necessary. We made lists of the closet drycleaners, shoe repair shops and tailors within 5 miles of the club just in case we needed to handle a wardrobe malfunction. This was the beginning of our house manual, which we developed for the club as well as a lesson for how to develop a proper manual if one became a house manager for a high net-worth family. Yes, we used that term all the time: high net-worth.
We learned to protect egos, mastering how to manipulate our words to not be offensive when someone behaves badly. If someone couldn’t remember what they did last night, we had a phrase for that. If we noticed someone trying to steal an expensive item in the club (and there were many expensive items) we had a phrase for that. We became professional language artists, sculpting effusive sentences that said what needed to be said, without really saying it. To me, that was the most British thing we learned, how to speak without really saying.
We learned how to present and light cigars, the history and proper way to serve afternoon tea (we were British butlers, so duh). We learned how to work in spa (which was the second phase of the club), how to handle the member’s children. We conquered Master, Mr., Mrs., Ms. and the like. How to greet in the proper order based on seniority and status. So many days, so many lessons in the world of privilege and luxury. What I am sharing is just a sample, there was so much more tucked into our training binders. My mind was just as full learning how to butler as it was learning human physiology as a pharma rep.
And then we graduated. On a beautiful and sunny Saturday morning, we were bussed to the top of a downtown high-rise for a buffet set by our Executive Chef and his staff. We wore our crisp new uniforms for the first time and American servers crossed the stage to receive certificates of completion as fully trained British butlers. Our service training was complete and the next week we would be turned over to the house management and chef to begin the food and menu training. As I look at the pictures, it is like all commencements. The hope, the anticipation and the complete ignorance of what was about to happen next. We thought we understood this clientele, but what came after the grand opening would be the biggest learning curve of all. I think I’ll save that for the book I will inevitably write but it was surely one of my grandest Adventures in Workland.
I asked myself in retrospect, how important was that certificate and the training really worth outside of that experience? Initially, I didn’t give it much credence, but now I know it's’ value. I saw a listing on Indeed for a house manager for a high net-worth family. That was the description of the ad. I don’t think I would have noticed a posting like that before my time as a butler, but reading the job requirements, I knew exactly what they wanted and could have easily stepped into the position with my training. It required a cross-country relocation so it was not to be, but I realized how many more doors this experience could open. Imagine if I hadn’t followed that intuitive hunch and made that phone call.
But the most valuable part of the training is we learned to become better customer advocates. When your member has been served by the best in the world, can I be a standard bearer in that scenario and not disappoint? Can I supply excellent and anticipatory service because I understand their language, experiences and expectations? Can I exceed those expectations? Can I keep their confidence, because they have world-wide reputations and brands to protect? Can they trust me to protect their persona when I witness their flaws and foibles? (And OMG, what we witnessed). My many sales mentors would say: “Sales is Sales”. If you can learn to sell one product, you can learn to sell any other one. It applies here as well. I’m just selling service and customer respect and I can offer that to anyone from any social status or demographic. The protocol was British, but the sentiment and heart of it is very American.
