Journals of a Hotel Manager

By 4pm on February 2, 2002, I had been working for 14 hours. My voice was hoarse from shouting on the phone to get hotel accommodation and to pull strings with city officials. At last, the army agreed to lend us a truck to take guests to the hotels and airport. They could not guarantee if they could wave the army insignia and sail all the way through the traffic jams. But at least they agreed to try.

Some of the guests began to feel antsy. Voice level began to elevate and temper started to flare. The lobby suddenly felt very small and congested. A staff reported that the flyover traffic finally started to move. That was our break. I stood on top of a chair and used my remaining vocal muscle to reassure the guests that they were getting out of the hotel.

“We will try everything to get you to safety and everyone tonight will have a warm bed to sleep in!” I roared with make-believe confidence.

Our solution was to ferry the guests across the sewage river in laundry trolleys. All male staff members, cooks, engineers, and sales managers had assisted with the guest exodus, which meant some of us had to hike up to 18th floor and come down with as much luggage as we physically could handle. We often came down to the lobby, out of breath, only to find another guest needing help on the 17th floor.

Many guests carried their own luggage but there were a few able-bodied young men refused to even carry their own laptop bags. At time like this, human nature often shows the ugliest trait.

We tested the laundry trolley with a few of our staff paddling with stainless steel salad bowls and found that it needed guidance across the river. A few local men were hastily recruited to swim aside the laundry trolleys to make sure it did not topple or sail down the river instead of across it. We paid them 50 cents for each trip.

The first batch was families with young children. The children didn’t mind the experience as we lowered them into the large blue plastic bucket. They peeped over the edge at the rest of us who remained stranded. A few swimmers never returned - the river was thick with unnamable materials and smelled strongly of gasoline. It was a ghastly job. Therefore we decided to pay the swimmers one dollar each trip upon their return with empty trolleys for the next batch of guests.

The evacuation went on. A few staff were stationed at the opposite bank of the river to help with the guests. When the army truck was full and driven away, there was no promise if the truck would ever return. Out of desperation, the staff started to randomly flag down any decent looking passenger car on the flyover, explained the plight and most guests were taken to their hotel by good natured local Samaritans this way.

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