Everyone thinks we would be used to it by now, but that’s not the case. No matter how many famous faces walk through the doors, there’s always that first second where our brain freezes, and we’re like, “Is that really her?” I can’t believe my eyes.
As somebody who works at the front desk of a luxury building in Manhattan, it means I get the occasional A-listers, influencers, athletes or even trending tech moguls, not just analysts or fund managers. Some are here for meetings with private equity firms. While others are trying to secure funding for a new brand, movie, or app. And some are just tagging along with their high-powered partners.
The very first time I met a celebrity, I almost forgot how to buzz someone in. It gave me a frozen moment when I saw someone who shows up on TV or in magazines; I was amazed. I can’t take names because of NDAs, but let’s say she was somebody who’s always wearing sunglasses, even indoors, like it’s a job. She smiled at me, asked if there was a restroom, and somehow made even that seem glamorous.
But not all of them are nice; some don’t even look up, and they talk to me like I’m nonexistent there. But others, surprisingly many of them are incredibly kind and warm. One pop star even complimented my earrings. Another, a legendary actor, joked that I must have the hardest job in the building dealing with “Wall Street robots.”
The most hard part of my job is staying cool. I can’t fangirl, ask for selfies or even hint that I recognize them. It’s this weird, odd game of pretending like we are all just regular people here to talk about quarterly returns. Except they’re wearing Balenciaga, and I’m behind a desk with a blinking landline.
I have seen staff swarm in, PR people waiting patiently for the celebs to come out, stylists adjusting last-minute touch-ups, everything that happens. I have seen it.
A lot of times, I wonder what it must feel like to walk into a room and know everyone recognizes you and yet pretends not to know you. I think it must be lonely in a strange way. The glamour of the cameras are only until the lights are on; once they’re off, the real life begins to sink in.
People think this job is just answering phones and pointing to conference rooms. But for me, it’s much more than just that; it’s a front-row seat to the intersection of fame, money, and ambition. Celebrities might not remember me, but I remember them not just how they looked but how they treated the people who didn’t matter. And that tells you a lot about them; just looking at people the way they treat someone, we can know if they are truly honest and caring.…
A Front Row Seat to Wall Street
I see them walk in every morning like clockwork, in their sleek suits, gleaming shoes and the ever-present hum of Bluetooth calls still echoing as they approach my desk. I’m a receptionist in a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper, home to one of the many investment banks that keep this city’s heart beating fast. I see them all, even though I dont work for them directly, every single day I see them.
Some of them walk past me with a nod, and others put out a warm smile and ask how my morning is going, usually without stopping to listen to my answer. Then there are the juniors, who are full of fresh self every day, with wide eyes and flashy smiles and are always a little sweaty or late. I’ve seen more of their awkward elevator small talk than I care to admit.
In all of this, there is a rhythm, morning rush, midday Uber eats deliveries, and late night exists with loosened ties and sleepy eyes. I always wonder how do they do it? 80-90 hours per week, back-to-back meetings and the inevitable pressure to be perfect every day. I have overheard more client calls than I should, and witnessed the managing director cry in the lobby, which surprised me.
But there’s so much I learn from watching them that they aren’t aware of. I see who’s in charge, who’s faking it, who is burnt out and who just can’t wait to watch. I notice who’s polite to the security guards, who makes small talk with the janitor, who actually remembers my name. The ones who do? They stand out.
Watching them, I realise how I had my own dreams of making it through all the hurdles. But this desk has taught me so much more than any business school ever could. How ambitious people are put down, and money rules the world everywhere. How many times confidence can be just another mask of disguise.
And yet, with all of the facade, what is seen in all of them is loneliness. The loneliness of being buried under spreadsheets and presentations. I see their desperate longing for a day off or looking out the window, lost in thoughts, figuring out if they ever wanted to be in the place where they started out.
But at the end of the day, I’m just a receptionist that observes a lot. And I’ve started to think that the best view in finance isn’t from the corner office; it’s from right where I am sitting.…
Welcome to the Circus – A Day in the Life of a NYC 5-Star Hotel Receptionist
People think that working for a 5-star hotel in New York City is the glamorous and the ultimate goal. And although sometimes it is, many times it’s not. The marble floors gleam, the guests are rich and the uniforms we wear are tailored so perfectly that I can’t imagine any mishap happening. The lobby always smells like fresh orchids and expensive candles. But behind the polished desk and practised smiles? It’s controlled chaos every single day.
I have had to check in Hollywood actors pretending not to be famous, and I have smuggled discreet visitors into the elevators while avoiding eye contact. I’ve watched millionaires have meltdowns because their rooms didn’t have the “right kind” of bottled water. And here’s the thing: when people pay $1,500 a night, they think they’re buying perfection. That’s where I come in. I’m the fixer, the firewall, the face of calm when a guest’s “preferred suite” is already occupied and their flight got delayed, and they just want to scream. I listen, I nod, I smile, and behind the scenes, I’m pinging five departments to make things right immediately.
Every day feels like a live performance; your coworkers are your castmates with whom you exchange glances with each other when a regular walks in or when a famous YouTuber demands an upgrade because “my followers are watching.” It’s hilarious and exhausting and, sometimes, weirdly rewarding.
But it’s not at all that bad; I have met people who stayed with us for decades, like families, business travellers, and quiet couples who leave thank-you notes at the checkout. I’ve seen proposals in the lobby. I’ve handed tissues to guests dealing with grief, divorce, and loneliness. You realize quickly that luxury doesn’t shield people from being human.
Behind this desk, you learn to read people in seconds; you pick up on their cues, tensions in their voice, tired eyes, passive-aggressive comments and a lot more. And you learn to solve problems with a kind of speed and poise that could make diplomats jealous.
We always go back home thinking about who’s checking in tomorrow, whether the penthouse got cleaned in time, and whether that special request for peonies instead of roses was handled. We dont just clock in.
So yeah, it’s my circus, and even when I’m biting on my tongue while someone yells at me about something they need, I remind myself that I’m not just a receptionist. I’m the gatekeeper to someone’s perfect gateway experience or the “New York experience”. This isn’t a minor role; it has a small title with significant responsibilities.…
Confessions of a 5-Star Hotel Receptionist in New York
If you’re thinking that being at the front desk of a 5-star hotel in York City is all smiles and glow, let me tell you, you’re only seeing the surface of it. My name is Grace, and for the past few years, I’ve stood behind the polished marble desk of one of Manhattan’s most luxurious hotels, wearing a navy blazer and the world’s most rehearsed smile.
First impressions matter a lot, and I’m the first face many people see when they walk in from JFK or roll up in a black car from Wall Street. A few are jet-lagged, in Prada or sweatpants; they all expect the same thing: perfection. And my job is to deliver it, no matter what’s going on behind the scenes, our life.
I have had to check in rockstars, royalty, influencers and the occasional billionaire who prefers not to be noticed. But we always know who they are; we just pretend to not see it. I’ve also helped frazzled parents find lost teddy bears and once translated an emergency prescription from Portuguese at 3 a.m.
My job is equal parts diplomacy, detective work and emotional labor. The real challenge? Anticipating needs that are never spoken. The guest who mentions their anniversary in passing expects a surprise in their suite. The CEO who arrives early expects their room ready even if check-in isn’t until 3. The VIP who books under a fake name still wants their usual corner suite with the feather pillows.
Then there are the occasional meltdowns over the scent of the room, the view not facing Central Park, or the fact that we don’t serve oat milk in the minibar. We learnt to say “of course” even when we want to say, “You are being too unreasonable” It’s all part of the game.
But it’s not always the stress and phoniness; there are real connections. The elderly couple tells you this trip is their first-ever vacation. Sometimes, kids give you a lollipop as a thank you. The solo traveler checks out and says quietly, “I felt safe here”. There’s always pride in it when somebody is happy to have had a good stay over.
At the end of a long shift, when I kick off my heels and head down the subway steps, I carry a strange pride. In a city that never stops moving, I helped someone feel at home, even if only for a night.
So if you ever stay at a luxury hotel and the receptionist greets you like they’ve been waiting just for you, they have. It’s our job to make you believe that. And most days, we really mean it.…