Making Hospitality Staff Feel Seen: Addressing Their Invisible Struggles

At the age of 12, I became the cashier for my family’s roadside produce stand. My life, as most would define it, was quite limited: the South Carolina town housing our farm had a mere 162 residents, many of whom were my relatives. Most visitors were merely passing through on their way to destinations like the freshwater lake for bass fishing or a girls’ getaway in Charlotte or Atlanta. These travelers would often be astonished by our low prices, which were intended to be affordable for locals. 'Everything is so inexpensive,' they would exclaim, as they filled their baskets with the fresh okra, tomatoes, and cantaloupes I had picked that very morning. I will always remember the queasy feeling that washed over me when the fruits of my family’s hard labor were described in such terms. Yet, I would always accept their payment with a smile, as my ancestors had taught me, thankful for it, even if it came at the cost of my self-worth.

During college, I worked as waitstaff and in housekeeping for various university events, including concerts, receptions, and alumni gatherings. I spent early mornings stripping sheets, perfecting hospital corners, and lying on the floor, stomach down, to ensure guests hadn’t left anything behind. Rarely did anyone express their gratitude with a simple 'thank you.' As a result, I spent nearly two decades in jobs where I felt invisible or, at best, regarded as 'the help.'

I have always recognized that my identity as a person and my professional life are two distinct aspects that just happen to coexist in one body. From an early age, I learned that many people pursue their jobs for various reasons: obligations, circumstances, or limited options. I promised that when I had my chance, I would embody the type of traveler I wished to see more of in my hometown—respectful, curious without being critical, and genuinely appreciative of the work others do.

Traveling is an incredible privilege. As a writer and professor, I have the opportunity to navigate the world in ways that were beyond the reach of my ancestors and remain inaccessible to many. I am thankful that my life allows me these experiences, so I strive to ensure the people I encounter feel acknowledged. I pay attention to name tags and greet staff by name; if I’m unsure how to pronounce a name, I ask for clarification. I make myself available for casual conversations. Sometimes, those I meet are curious about where I come from, and I happily listen as they share their own stories. Because no matter what job someone holds, they are a person—each with their unique narratives and aspirations.

Some individuals prefer to focus on their work and may not be interested in engaging with guests. They might be too busy to interact. I’ve certainly had days like that. However, I’ve also witnessed how a sincere compliment can brighten someone’s day. At the conclusion of my hotel stays, I make it a point to mention to the manager those who delivered exceptional service or demonstrated outstanding attention to detail that exceeded my expectations.

Before heading out of my hotel room each day, I also take a moment to write a few words for the housekeeping staff. 'Thank you for providing me with a safe and clean environment during my stay,' I write on a piece of hotel stationery, leaving it on the TV stand alongside my daily tip, which typically ranges from $10 to $20 on days I request housekeeping. If I order room service for several days in a row, I leave notes of appreciation for the chef in the margins of the menu before placing my order on the doorknob. I don’t seek anything in return for these notes and tips; they’re simply my way of letting the unseen workers know that I value their efforts.

Not long ago, I found myself on the receiving end of this kindness. After spending several days leaving notes for housekeeping during a mother-daughter getaway in Charleston, South Carolina, I returned to our room one evening to discover a note on the bed. Stephoney, the person who had attended to our room, had replied: “Wishing you and your family a joyful and blessed holiday, and all the best for the New Year.” It was a small gesture—just a single sentence—but it conveyed so much warmth and humanity. It’s the feeling I hope others experience when they read my messages. For that reason, I will continue to write them.