Hotel housekeepers could clean up on our dirty secrets
by Beth Teitell

Thursday, May 31, 2001

You're never going to see her again. In fact, you may have never seen her. Heck, you two could have passed in the hallway without even recognizing each other. Your ``relationship,'' such that it was, probably lasted a few days, two weeks at the most. You may not even speak the same language.

And yet, you care what she thinks of you. You've been trying to impress her, in fact. Yesterday, you didn't know who she was, today, she's more important than your spouse.

You do things for her that you haven't done for years. Clean the toothpaste spray off the faucet. Hang your towels in the bathroom. Pick up old newspapers.

Who, after all, wants the hotel maid to think she's a slob - or worse?

``You feel like a fake when you stay at a nice place,'' said a woman who stays in Ian Shrager hotels when she travels for business. ``And the maid is the one who knows you don't belong there.''

She sees your ripped generic underwear, your Pert shampoo, the splayed bristles on your toothbrush. She knows you're sneaking in beer and macadamia nuts because you're too cheap to pay mini-bar prices. That you drink Diet Coke in the morning.

``She knows,'' the woman added, ``that you're hoarding the pathetic little soaps.''

``I'm neater in a hotel than I am at home, where I don't have a maid,'' a friend told me.

(Which is not to say that people with maids at home don't have plenty of issues of their own. Your own maid can rat you out to people who know you, not just gossip with other members of the staff in some foreign city.)

My friend was in Europe recently, and stayed at an inn with a breakfast buffet. ``I brought food back to my room and ate in bed while I watched TV,'' she said, ``and I know the maid was thinking, `That American pig. There are crumbs all over the place.' ''

So what should you do? It's your vacation, after all, you don't want to spend the whole time cleaning. You could hire your own maid who could sneak in and clean before the hotel maid's dreaded knock: ``Housekeeping.''

You could change hotels every night, checking out at dawn. You could tip extravagantly, so your mess is attributed to the charming eccentricity of a wealthy person, not the slovenly habits of a low-life.

Or, you can do the work yourself. I've talked to people who make the bed in hotels, who fold their pajamas (when they don't at home), who hustle trash into outside - anonymous - garbage cans.

Which is not a bad idea, considering that the maid knows if you're staying in the room alone, and in any language the math is the same: one guest plus two empty bags of Rold Gold pretzels, a Dove Bar wrapper, an empty bottle of chardonnay and a Domino's pizza box equals a weird, secret eater.

But why, I asked a woman who worries about the maid's opinion, does it matter?

She thought about it.

``I guess because I care what everyone thinks of me. No matter how brief our encounter.''

Even toll takers? I asked.

``Yes,'' she said. ``If I have dorky music on when I go through, I turn down the radio.''

Here's a really scary thought: What if you're just running down to the newsstand for a moment, and you've left your bed unmade and dorky music playing on the radio, and the maid enters your chambers?

That's when it's time for extreme measures: You leave your luggage and laptop behind, and take the first plane outta there.

After all, you've got a rep to maintain.