

THE LESSON: If you’re going to do a job, why not do it well?
The daughter of a successful retailer, my bucket list had only one item: Cover the fashion collections in Paris.
Blame my mom. I spent much of my youth in her luxury fashion boutiques, where I witnessed the power of display, packaging, elegance and a British accent.
Alas, despite having lived in England, I cannot mimic my mum’s speaking that so charmed everyone.
But the other skills and traits I absorbed have served me well—including when I worked in retail at Macy’s from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. during summers and holidays to pay for college.
As a floater, I toiled in almost every area. Soon customers would ask for me at the front door and I’d serve as their personal stylist, pulling complete head-to-toe looks from the various departments.
But the powers-that-be never assigned me to the candy department. It’s as if they knew I’d eat the merchandise.
On one occasion I drew what others considered the black bean: working in luggage, an area tucked away on the top floor next to appliances.
There I observed that the most expensive brand (Hartman) was not selling—at all.
I made it my mission to change that. First, I learned all about its quality and history—why it was worth buying.
Then I created a beautiful display of Hartman at the front of the department.
I told customers why the brand was the best value – and boom, Hartman was hot.
The day I gave notice after that first summer, I was working in the shoe department’s backroom.
“You’ve got a call!” another salesperson said.
“We can’t take personal calls,” I replied.
“This isn’t personal. Take it,” he said.
I did. Corporate (Macy’s) tried to convince me to stay as their luggage manager instead of going back to college. As if.
Maybe I should’ve negotiated to be candy department manager instead. Ha!
I was still going back to the university because I’d known since age 10 that I’d be a writer.
So I left my longing for the elusive sweet stuff of my dreams: the candy land at the store’s center. Each day I had seen it and craved to work with it.
That dream never was fulfilled. But journalism—the career I chose over baggage—has been the joy of my life. I even covered the fashion collections for a decade–including in Paris.
The thrill of chasing stories has triumphed over my shyness. I became a more daring person. I have no regrets.
P.S. Years later, I interviewed jewelry designer Alexis Bittar as we sat in folding chairs in a Neiman Marcus storeroom. Both of us felt at home–and customers couldn’t interrupt us.
Household confidential
THE LESSON: “I’m not really a waitress” is one of OPI’s all-time bestselling nail enamels—and it’s a good reminder. Everyone has dreams, no matter how they pay the rent. Keeping that in mind, the kinder and more open you are, the more likely you’ll succeed in business.
In my case, I’ve broken major stories by going the extra step to interview housekeepers, taxi drivers and others often overlooked.
Whatever you do for a living, appreciate that the “invisible people”—the ones many ignore—may have as fascinating backgrounds and ambitious goals as the prominent.
I know because I once was a hotel maid, one of the people whose eyes you avoided while I kinda cleaned your toilet.
Hey, I’m no saint.
As if!
But I could strip and make a king-sized bed immaculately, with hospital corners, in nine minutes.
Impressive, huh?
Room without a view
Not to the head housekeeper, who chugged from a whisky flask while timing me.
A head housekeeper essential–apparently.
Fail. The expected time: 4½ minutes.
Times up.
But even slow housekeepers, in hotel parlance, earn their pay.
Have you had to pick up a stranger’s soiled panties from the floor—or on occasion, restore order to a completely trashed room?
I’d also never seen hashish before I had to clean a tub a quarter full of it. Perhaps its potency explains how the guests were able to slash the “art” and rip it from the wall, and move the king-sized bed.
And in case you’re wondering the size of the tip that party animal left behind, it was nothing, nada, zip.
It’s a dirty job.
Three weeks was all I could handle as a maid, even at a Midwest city’s finest hotel.
Yours truly, in the hotel’s bowels.
But I did have stories. And years later, I suggested to author Elaine Viets that hotel maids would be perfect for her Dead-End Job Mystery series. So I spilled my escapades in cleaning–and her readers responded to Murder With Reservations. Her book and her credit, of course. Not mine. I was still invisible.
But I did gain–in perspective. I realized that the unnoticed may have lofty aspirations. I certainly did. My array of temp and full-time summer jobs helped pay my pricey tuition at Paris’ Institut des Etudes Politiques (Sciences Po) and Université of Paris IV.
And they were no dead-end. As intended, my college education opened the door to my long-desired career in journalism.
So get to know your hotel maid, waiter, Uber driver or neighborhood patrol–they may have fascinating stories to share.
Most importantly, treat others as you’d want to be treated. Be kind. It’s free. And you can enrich two lives — theirs and your own.
The payoff.