Bob Gordon was shown to his suite by a bellman. He felt like a limp dishrag he was absolutely drained. It was finished and now he had no idea what to do. Bob had just completed negotiating and finally closing the sale of GorTech Enterprises. It was a company he had founded and built into a well-publicized business success story. Now, except for the very large certified check and a stock certificate in his briefcase he had nothing. It was just sinking into his brain that GorTech had been his life.
He still second-guessed his decision to sell out and bail out. American Computer, the giant corporation that had bought his company, had offered him a very generous management contract to stay on to run it for them. With performance incentives it could have added a large sum to the amount he had already received, but Bob had turned it down. He didn’t think he would ever be able to run GorTech with other executives looking over his shoulder who would be able to second-guess his decisions.
The bellman had done all of the usual things that Bob observed with half an eye and half an ear checking the bathroom, turning on the television, and so forth. Finally, he heard the familiar words, Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Gordon?
Bob smiled to himself. He respected the young man who had obviously paid attention in the hotel’s training classes. A standard training exhortation, Bob knew, was always to address the guest by name. Bob reached into his wallet, pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, and gave it to the young man. He said, with a smile, Thank you. How are you fixed for tall blondes?
The bellman’s eyes widened as he realized the size of the tip. He said, Thank you, Mr. Gordon! I’ll see what I can do.He quietly let himself out of the suite. A moment later there was a knock on the door. Bob opened it and found the bellman standing there with a bucket of ice. I thought you might like some ice, Mr. Gordon. He smiled and was gone again.
Bob took the ice and took a bottle of Beefeater’s from his suitcase along with a tiny bottle of dry vermouth. He made himself a very dry martini on the rocks and collapsed into an easy chair after turning off the television set. It was Friday night. Bob smiled to himself thinking about giving the bellman a fifty-dollar tip on a whim. At virtually any commercial hotel weekends were dead. About the only guests were couples taking advantage of the very common promotional weekend specials. Bob thought about his present prospects with dismay.
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