The Mystery Shopper on the Trail of the Bard

It was a strange gig that took me to that particular hotel. The role I was playing was myself. Well, a version of myself as I was a mystery shopper. This was, you understand, long before the days of Corona Virus. A time when hotels and restaurants craved accurate, unbiased feedback and were prepared to pay an invisible army of customers to get it.

I had been assured by the person giving out the assignments that this exclusive chain of hotels was a very nice job to land. You were paid in part by the stay in the hotel itself and there was also a reasonable fee to compensate you for the necessary administration of the job.

You needed to adopt a specific mindset as you have to note every detail for your report later. The sort of details you wouldn’t probably notice in the normal course of things. To give some examples:

Were there any visible pieces of litter in the car park?

Was the signage adequate and well-illuminated to guide you to reception?

How many customers are in line ahead of you at check-in?

Were fresh flowers displayed and in what condition did they appear?

How long (in seconds) before you were acknowledged by the staff?

Were all staff smartly dressed and wearing a name badge?

Were verbal directions to your room clear and accurate?

You haven’t reached your room yet and already your mind is swirling with various points of data. You silently repeat the name of staff in your head until you get to your room and can write them down. You glance at the corridors to see if they look freshly cleaned. You look for uncollected trays laden with the remnants of room service meals and dirty crockery. All the while appearing to be a simple, tired normal traveller as anonymous as possible so that the game is not given away. This becomes harder as the stay progresses. You have messages to leave for yourself to collect from reception; your own room service to order and errands to set housekeeping, timing how long it takes to bring various items to you such as a sewing kit or a disposable razor.

Most of this is manageable in chunks and experience has taught me to write the reports in sections as you go. So the weekend is part fun, part pretence and part paperwork. It’s easy to do the room check, especially as my wife is able to accompany me and she casts her critical eye over the cleaning, the bedding, towels and soft furnishings.

We check all the TV channels are working. We count the number of toilet rolls in the bathroom (it is something the checklist requires, not a hobby!) We will repeat this later in the public washrooms. Out of staff eyesight, these tasks are all easy and only when they are done, do we appreciate for ourselves the room as lodgings. It is a large light corner room with windows on two aspects. We’re on the top floor so the view as the sun begins to set is wonderful; acres of well-kept grounds with centuries old oaks and cedars. A stream run through the property and it seems we are miles from any other building. For one night, we are part of an upper-class English Estate, Members of a Manor House. We order a classic English Cream Tea (again requested by the hotel chain checklist), our “Cover Story” is that we are celebrating our wedding anniversary, although in reality it is three months early. We consume fresh-baked scones, (rhyme it with ‘gone’ please or we shall have words!) loaded with jam and clotted cream, with Earl Grey Tea and watch that view slowly blush with a setting sun’s glow, For an hour or so, this doesn’t feel like work.

The more difficult part of the weekend is interactions with bar and restaurant staff as you eat or order a drink. You are not allowed, under pain of death to take notes, or complete questionnaires in public, and the range of information required is detailed and bountiful. Estimating the number of people in the bar and covers in the restaurant for example. That however, is child’s play compared to the wealth of data required on timings:

How long before you were acknowledged by the restaurant staff?

How long before they greeted you?

How long to seat you, fetch your menus, take a drinks order, bring your drinks.

How long to take your food order, bring your starters, clear your starters.

How long between courses?

Did they checkback? When did they checkback? Who checked back?

All of this without once looking at a watch! So, you learn to run a timer in your head or develop tricks such as locating a public clock in easy gaze, or casually have your phone on the table for reference without appearing to be a zealous Olympic judge. When I’m doing this alone, I take a newspaper in with me and have it open at the puzzles page so that any times can be noted and look like the workings out of a Sudoku. However, this looks rude when dining with someone so you do your best.

There is also an art to looking for nametags on staff so you can identify them for praise or shame later. You need to be able to do this subtly, as most badges are pinned on the chest and female staff will notice a guest squinting at their breasts for an extended period. So, you develop ‘The Glance’. If there are two of you, this divides the work and gives you the ability to double check. You also find out that most name badges are pointless or at least unfit for purpose. The font is not big enough to be easily seen and some of them are in a fake cursive script that is difficult to read standing still in good light, never mind on a moving target in “mood” lighting!

I always try to fair. The briefs emphasise that you’re not there to cause a problem, but to be an independent observer to record how, if a problem occurred, it was resolved. They actually hope you will catch the establishment in the act of doing things right. I am by nature, a polite person and make even more of an effort on these assignments. Service staff work long hours for little reward and the last thing they need is unwarranted criticism. I’m not there as a food critic with an entertaining column to write and looking to exaggerate problems or turn a meal into a funny anecdote. As a famous TV detective once said, ‘Just the facts’. Staff will also push back on inaccurate reports and go through CCTV images to try and plead their case so you make sure you are accurate in your recollections. Once submitted and read by a senior person at an organisation, the written word take on an authority and a good or bad report could potentially affect bonuses, prospects or promotions.

This overnight experience was a good one. The setting was dreamlike and a history of the manor said there was documentary evidence that Shakespeare himself had visited. To add to their historical credentials, the ruins of a fourteenth century church lay within the grounds which we explored on a walk after a surprise anniversary dessert was sprung on us after the meal (so full marks there for listening and responding!)

We strolled hand in hand, well fed and content. The lack of light pollution and a clear sky afforded a clear view of the heavens. Perhaps the romance of our not quite anniversary, or the influence of good food and alcohol warmed us, but the stars appeared to be trying extra hard to impress, and impressed we were.

Having recently played Friar Laurence in Romeo and Juliet and read of the Bard’s presence at the Manor, the thought struck me. “Wow, these are Shakespeare’s Stars”. I could be standing where he had stood. That thought gave rise to this poem which I started that very evening but did not complete for a few years. I lost track of which device I’d started it on. Then having found it, I was happy with the first two verses, but couldn’t hear the voice of the poem to finish it or discern which direction it desired to take. Finally. I have. I live with a new poem for a few days, revisit it so see if I’m satisfied. I feel this one is finished and says what I always intended it should. Perhaps a member of the hospitality industry would like to send me some feedback?

It seems only fair!

Night Sky Above Stratford

These are Shakespeare’s stars.

Pinned to their velvet backdrop by Polaris,

the Northern Star, ‘true fixed and resting’

round which the heavens spin.

A celestial Catherine Wheel

throwing sparks and long-burned fire,

many life times in its journey

to our worshipping eyes.

These are the stars blamed for love,

cross-purposed and mis-timed.

The heavens begged of for wisdom,

constellations turned consolation.

The constant candles whose light bear witness

to love’s musical scale. The distance

between sweet and bitter notes measure

the wafer’s width ‘twixt joy and tragedy.

The stars that keep our confidences:

the kiss that leads to lifelong love and the

haunting mis-steps, the still remembered aches.

A silent shoulder for comfort’s sake.

Healers of heartbreaks, keepers of longings and

the longed-after, guardians to rage and laughter.

Diamond flecked confidante of darkest air, to

all our reckless humours, from love to despair.