Rob Gronkowski's Tires and the Hospitality Game
The hiatus is over. I’m back after a brief respite on the isle of Capri, where the Limoncello is drinkable and the people celebrated as celebrities.
And why is that? Why do the southern Italians embrace the world’s travelers as VIP’s? Are they better at it than the other nations? What can we learn from this SOP? First, let’s discuss a recent run in at a Boston Hotel that I was privy to.
Parking, of course, is an issue in Boston and spaces are at a premium.
Even more important to the public than a good spot is athletics. Boston celebrates its sports stars with way more passion than their music or acting pool. It’s just the way it is. Enter superstar Patriot’s performer Rob Gronkowski, maybe the most skilled athlete of all time at his position. Gronk pulls up in a dual axle, 4-door, Ford pick up, the size of a battleship. The mean machine matches this guy’s personality: big! The tires are so huge, that if they ran you over, the EMT would need to search for you in the grooves. So Gronk pulls up in front of the hotel causing a commotion and the valet starts to scramble, flaging him in like they’re parking a 757 at Logan. The valet is no dummy; Gronk is a notorious big tipper. Hell, the guy deserved combat pay working with that heavy equipment.
What happens next does not happen at the Quissisana.
The manager on duty comes out screaming at the driver of the truck to move on, as the hotel did not want a citation for illegal stopping or standing. Now, I know the world has tuned populist, and we are all suppose to dumb it down to the least common denominator, but I assure you, that doesn’t account for Gronk in Boston. “Some are more equal than others” we all learned in Animal Farm. Forget the fact that if he’s sighted in your establishment, it’s worth his weight in marketing gold. That is immaterial. This scenario is a symptom that we are loosing our way as to who works for whom, anymore. There used to be a pageantry that occurred between the Haves and the Have Nots, which culminated into mutual respect. Clear lines were established and both parties were never more equal. The Haves basked in the glory of their accomplishments and the Have Nots dreamed at their turn at the VIP parking. The whole thing is a game, people. And in the end, we all end up equal.
The Italians learned this during the Renaissance, I guess. Pass the Sfogliatelle.
By: Joe Bezzone
President | BEZZONE