The Hospitality Game
What my father taught me before the water was poured
There are things you learn as a child that don’t feel like lessons at the time.
They feel like routines. Like games. Like just another part of the day.
For me, it started before dinner.
When your father is a single parent—and manages the hotel you live in—you spend a lot of time in the restaurant. Not as a guest, exactly. Not as staff either. Somewhere in between.
And somewhere along the way, dinner became a game.
The Rules were simple…
We would walk in together, passing through the front door, past the host stand, and into the dining room. I remember watching everything, though I didn’t yet know why it mattered.
Once seated, and before the busperson had a chance to pour water, my father would glance at me and give a small nod.
That was my cue. I would say a number—three, maybe five, sometimes more if I was feeling bold—and then I had to explain what I had seen.
A missed greeting.
A table not quite reset.
A server moving too quickly to make eye contact.
Something just slightly off.
He would listen quietly, without interrupting, and then he would turn over a small piece of paper.
If I was exactly right, I got a treat.
If I found more than he did, which didn’t happen often, I got something even better…His pride.
What I remember most is not the mistakes themselves, but what happened around them.
Often, someone would catch it. A napkin adjusted. A step retraced. A small correction made without fanfare. My father noticed those moments too, and in his own way, I think he valued them just as much.
He rarely called attention to what was wrong, and almost never involved a manager unless something was truly glaring.
At some point, I began to understand why.
I remember the moment the game shifted for me, the moment I realized that what I was doing might actually get someone in trouble.
That these weren’t just observations. They were people.
I must have hesitated, or said something, because he stopped me and gently reframed it in a way that has stayed with me ever since.
This wasn’t about getting anyone in trouble.
It was about learning how to see.
A great manager doesn’t experience the floor through reports or summaries. They experience it the way a guest does, through moments, impressions, and small details that either build confidence or quietly take it away.
There is no such thing as perfection. But there are patterns.
Moments when something feels off.
Moments when there are more misses than usual.
Moments when the energy shifts, even if nothing obvious is wrong.
And if you pay attention, those patterns begin to tell a story.
Is it training?
Is it distraction?
Is it carelessness?
Or is it something deeper?
The most important walk a manager can take is not through the back office.
It’s through the front door.
Does it sparkle?
Was the greeting you received automatic, or sincere?
How does it feel when you walk in? Is there energy, presence, care?
Try it once this week. Walk into your own business as if you’ve never been there before. Take in what you see before the water hits the table.
You may be surprised by how much reveals itself.
If you played along… here’s what I saw.
Missing place settings
Food not cleared between courses
A wine glass turned upside down
Server’s hair not properly secured
Associate’s body language with arms crossed and leaning
Conflict on the floor in front of guests
A manager present - but not truly seeing or setting the tone
At the time, I thought my father was teaching me how to spot mistakes.
He wasn’t.
He was teaching me how to care enough to notice them.
Thank you again for stopping by…I hope you enjoyed
Hospitality Inherited is inspired by a life spent in and around hotels, and the lessons passed down—often quietly—about what it means to truly take care of people. Please don’t hesitate to reach out !