by Jill Eldredge Gabriele
As assistant manager of the Waldorf Astoria hotel, my job was crisis management. Forty-two stories tall, 1,900 guest rooms, 7 restaurants, this midtown monolith held daily catastrophes. Each day was different, and I never knew what awaited me.
Sometimes, hunky firemen would clunk through the lobby asking, “Where’s the fire?” Some guest would have phoned in the smell of smoke, semi-regularly generated from the trains running beneath the hotel. Built on stilts, the Waldorf had its own secret rail station, which could whisk away visiting presidents.
Occasionally, I would arrive early for a buttery croissant and coffee at Oscar’s cafe, just opposite the Bull and Bear pub. Between the two restaurants was a slender escalator, to the main lobby, where my desk awaited. The morning had begun quietly when an Oscar’s waitress ran up to me.
“You’d better come quick! An employee is passed out at the bottom of the escalator and the steps are slicing her to pieces!” My feet ran, as my mind raced, imagining the gruesome scene awaiting me. Bolting down the escalator, I spied a group of people encircling a young woman, who was sprawled out. The moving tooth-edged stairs were repeatedly slicing her arm. Blood oozed from her head.
I gingerly moved her arm from the repeating deli-slicer stairs. “Call 911 and grab some napkins from the Bull and Bear, NOW!” I whispered to the waitress. “But they’re Irish linen!” she complained. I glared in disbelief and she disappeared, reappearing moments later with the burgundy napkins.
Gently applying pressure on the various bleeding points, I motioned for people to disperse. No one moved. How could I lighten the mood as we awaited the ambulance? I doubted she could hear me, but what was the downside?
Glancing at her nametag I said, “Well, Nancy, you’ve gotten yourself into a little bit of a pickle here, haven’t you? Listen, if you wanted a break so badly, all you had to do was ask!” Getting closer to her ear, I whispered, “Hey Nancy, you’re going to be fine. Emergency services are on their way, you have a few superficial cuts, but you’ll be back home tonight. Just relax, we’ve got you covered. I’m staying with you, until I hand you over to the best looking EMT in the group. Come find me when you’re back. I’m Pat, and I’m good for a coffee.”.
One arriving EMT raised his eyebrows at me…this wasn’t looking good… and I quietly gulped. “Good work,” he whispered as they whisked Nancy into the ambulance. I went upstairs to file a report.
The following week was particularly crazy. One guest sheepishly calling on the house phone, had been robbed by a prostitute he had invited up to his room. Could I please send some clothes up to him? A U.S. senator had arrived four hours ahead of schedule; could he check in early? The presidential suite earmarked for his arrival had been trashed by a bachelor party the night before, with whipped cream on the walls and furniture broken. I took a deep breath. It was going to be one of those days.
And so, it was over the heads of some bowing Japanese dignitaries that I glimpsed a serene smile. As the woman approached, her smile broadened. It was Nancy. I left the bobbing bureaucrats to the international desk staff.
“Nancy! Great to see you! You look well! How’s it going?”
“I just wanted to thank you. I heard every word you said to me. Every word. By the way, you were right. Rob was the best looking EMT. We’ve got a date tonight. You still good for a coffee?”