A Day in the Life

Bed & Breakfast Bootcamp - A Day in the Life

"A Wake Up Call at the B&B"

   5-11 a.m.: At 5:30 a.m. the phone rings and a voice informs me that it's time to begin my apprenticeship at Elizabeth Pointe Lodge on Amelia Island. It's dark outside and I hate getting up in the dark.
   Miss Ona is waiting for me in the kitchen. She has been there since 5 o'clock. Her first job is to put out a fresh pot of coffee in the dining room. She shows me how to work the commercial coffeemaker and asks me to watch that a fresh pot is always brewing.
   Taped on the wall is a chocolate-chip cookie recipe from the mother of David Caples, who owns the inn with his wife, Susan. The recipe is a bit daunting, since it's for 12 dozen cookies. Miss Ona gives me a quick tour of the kitchen and gets me started on the recipe.
   My reading glasses are upstairs in my room, but I'll manage. Wouldn't it be easier, I think, to buy the cookies from a local bakery? But then the Caples' might be accused of false advertising, since a sign at the front desk says the inn's cookies are made from mom's recipe.
   I begin to carefully measure: 4 cups shortening, 2 cups white granulated sugar...
   "Where's the fresh pot of coffee?" I suddenly hear. It's 7 a.m., and bleary-eyed guests need their first fix of caffeine.
   Breakfast in the dining room is under way. I refill the coffee machine and go back to the cookie recipe. Four cups brown sugar, 4 tablespoons salt... Soon I'm finished, and Miss Ona says she'll take it from here.
   In the dining room, I'm instructed on how to keep the breakfast buffet replenished and never to remove a dish while a guest is still sitting in front of it.
   Time to taste my cookies. I can't wait. I haven't had a bite of breakfast myself yet. The cookies are cooling on the counter. I grab one and take a big bite. Ugh! They taste terrible. What happened? Miss Ona tries one and knows right away. Too much salt. We go over the recipe. Four teaspoons of salt - not 4 tablespoons.
   Miss Ona calmly throws the huge batch away and tells me to start over. But first I run upstairs for my glasses.

   11 a.m. - 3 p.m.: After a 10-minute breakfast, I go upstairs to begin housekeeping chores. Two friendly housekeepers take turns showing me the ropes. Every move is outlined in a very specific manner: how to roll up the carpet runners and sweep the floor rather than sweep around them; how to spot-clean linens rather than let the stain set; how to go through the magazine rack and toss magazines such as Playboy. The inn stocks the racks with the likes of Conde Nast Traveler, National Geographic and Historic Preservation. We take turns going down to the laundry room to run the sheets and towels through the commercial machines.

   3-5 p.m.: Front-desk training in reservations, check-in/out procedures and guest services are next.
   The inn is full for the next three nights, thanks to a small-business conference being held here. Elizabeth Pointe does not have a "No Vacancy" sign, however. The owners want people to come in and take a look. After apologizing that the inn is full, we call other hotels on the island in search of available rooms. I am told that appreciative travelers remember this courtesy.

   5-5:45 p.m.: Upstairs for a quick shower and a brief rest. I just start to doze when its time to get back to work.

   5:45-7 p.m.: I help cut cheese for the "wine hour," which is about to begin. The inn offers complimentary wine, crackers and cheese and vegetables and dip for the nightly social hour. I mingle with the guests. At least 10 people ask me where to go for dinner. After showing them an Amelia Island Dining Guide, everyone still wants to know which restaurant I like best.

   7-10 p.m.: At the night-audit review, I can barely concentrate. Tim, the front desk clerk, is kind and patient. He goes over the lodging revenue-reporting process, posting figures on the computer spread sheets and shows me the operating-report process. Math was never my strong point, and as Tim sees that he's losing me, he breaks for coffee and a few humorous front-desk stories.
   Just then a young couple from Jacksonville sweep in, the bride still in her white gown with the groom's tuxedo jacket thrown over her shoulders. Tim gives them a warm welcome, and we show the newlyweds to their room. Downstairs, he goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne and a bowl of fresh strawberries, part of the honeymoon package. I deliver them to the newlyweds and decline a tip, wishing I could trade places with them.

   10-11 p.m.: I am taking a bubble bath in one of the lodge's oversized tubs and may never come out. My 49-year-old, out-of-shape body is exhausted. I no longer dream of running an inn, small or large. Instead, I think of coming back with my husband to stroll down that long, lonely, lovely beach as paying guests.