Madeline, not Maddie

I have a secret that others don’t know. Well, except maybe the cleaner.

I landed a job that requires me to be chic, polished, and up to date on all the latest trends that come with being a manager for an upscale hotel boutique. Truth is that I only became the manager by default.

The former boutique manager, Margo, a lady I met at a movie discussion group, had an emergency that required her to go across the country. In her attempt to find someone to cover for her while she attended a personal matter 1500 miles away, she reached out to me. Apparently, she was desperate.

Immediately, I informed her that I did not have the experience to run such an establishment. Obviously, she didn’t know I seldom wore dressy outfits, let alone a fancy, expensive dress or suit that prestigious people wore. 

Margo was in a real pinch and offered much more money than I had made from my late-night, part-time job as a boot and shoe shiner at Cotton Eyed Joe’s, a popular local honky-tonk. It was more money than I had ever made from any job.

She was pressed for time, but somehow managed to complete all the necessary paperwork within two days. She allotted me exactly two hours of her limited timeframe to review all my duties for the week. Though she hardly knew me, she praised her decision to have me step in for her. She had to leave her precious gem in my trusted hands until she returned.

Her promise to return in a week gave me hope that I would only need to be “fake” for a short time and then I could resume my life as a quiet nerd who loves campfires and lightning bugs. My usual attire consisted of jeans, polished older boots, and t-shirts, and many of my clothes had stains from shoe polish on them. Not to mention the apron I wore on the job; it too was covered in cleanser and polish.

We didn’t have the same body types, nor did we wear the same size in clothing, but she succeeded in giving me several outfits to look-the-part. She left me in charge of overseeing the entire store, every single part involved in making it successful.

Oh, and Margo knew me as Madeline, not Maddie as the honky-tonks, late-night bar mongers, and avid shoe-shining customers knew me. When I started going to the movie discussion group, I decided to introduce myself by my given name, Madeline, and it was the only time I dressed up for anything. 

The six employees I had now become manager of looked at me in the same fashion as they looked at Margo. Like a leader in fashion and boutique expertise. Boy, they were oblivious, to say the least. Thankfully, the employee schedule for the following weeks was already designed, and they all knew their parts.

Everyone, because of Margo’s outspoken trust in my abilities, thinks I am extremely capable of the responsibility that comes with the job. If Margo left me in charge, then of course I must be extremely responsible and mature. Wrong. I am mature on most levels, but not a mature luxury store specialist.  Not even close. 

When I say everyone, I mean all but one.

When Margo didn’t come back as she promised, I got scared. My secret will out me soon, I feared. How long could I keep up the front? I have accidentally become the one person everyone relies on to keep the boutique running, profitably and seemingly effortlessly.

But I am terrified that they will all figure out that I am just winging it, winging everything. 

The boutique, though within a grand hotel, is independent property, owned by an elder woman with a long-standing reputation in this well-known college city. I wonder how Mrs. Hollow would feel towards me if she ever found out that I was not one of them, not by a long shot.

The boutique had its own unique style, and since it is independent of any corporate universal operating procedures, it does not have specific manuals to adhere to. Apparently, Margo had been running the property with her own entrepreneurial mindset.

Margo left her daily planner and access to the computer software needed to run the business effectively, but I had very little entrepreneurial spirit necessary to take full charge of the grand endeavor. Nonetheless, the money I was making inspired me to do my best at overseeing the daily operations of the stylish establishment, using my own scrappy business skills to deliver personalized guest experiences.

Though very limited, I had some experience with budget management, and with Margo’s planner, I could “fake it until I make it,” as the saying goes.

Lesa was Margo’s assistant. My assistant. Funny to say aloud because I never had an assistant of any kind. Because of Margo’s hype about my abilities, Lesa showed favor to me and was always helpful and willing to assist.

With the help of Lesa and Margo’s detailed store data and personal notes, my product knowledge and buying skills developed steadily and even amazed me. I began overseeing our social media and guest reviews, as well as the attached hotel and local PR initiatives to drive more traffic into the store. Lesa became my right-hand person. And even with all her posh upbringing, she was blind to my secret. My secret to being unqualified for the job.

Somehow, I had taught myself how to manage vendor relationships and even renegotiated a few contracts to keep the costs down. I followed Margo’s system that she had left on her desk, my desk, and tweaked it to fit my own analyzing style to adjust accordingly and maximize our yield for the upcoming week or weeks. I decided that expensive third-party platforms were not suitable for our unique store and focused on direct marketing execution. 

Lesa and I look at numbers every Tuesday to stay on target. Without corporate oversite, it is up to me to maintain my flexible revenue management style. Together we spend time during the week to sway relationships with local businesses, like the neighborhood florist supplying the flowers and plants in the hotel lobby. I have learned that active local vendor partnerships have a direct correlation to the popularity of the boutique.

After months of being the temporary boutique manager, Margo informed me that she was not returning to the store. She said Mrs. Hollow, the store owner, would be coming to visit me on Friday to welcome me as permanent boutique manager. It was Wednesday, and I had two days to prepare myself for the inevitable. Mrs. Hollow would recognize fraud when she saw one. She would see right through my trendy, stylish suite and updo hairstyle that I have been sporting since Margo left.

I still think the cleaner is hip to me and my inadequacies. She sometimes stares at me through judgy eyes of disbelief, and if she spoke better English, she would probably rat me out. But she hasn’t yet, and hopefully in time, I can win her over.

I wonder if she looks at me the way she does because she recognizes me from the boot-scooting bar that I frequented as a shoe shiner for many years. She looks at me as if I am a foreigner, not her. She’s right too; I am in foreign territory. But I am learning to swim and not sink.

My self-taught ability to excel as an independent boutique manager included every crash course available in hospitality and leadership I could acquire. I have learned through mistakes that it takes a certain level of balance to handle high-end expectations while running a tight ship.

My self-imposed upgraded business skills helped me to convince the elegant hotel’s manager to let us rent the boutique space for another five years. Hopefully, this signed contract will aid in proving to Mrs. Hollow that I am worthy of being here. Being the boutique’s manager.

Friday came, and so did Mrs. Hollow.

Mrs. Hollow met two other individuals in the hotel lobby before they strolled into the store as if they owned the place–because they did. Mrs. Hollow owned the store, but the other two and herself made up the board of directors for the boutique. As with Mrs. Hollow, the other two walked in with a haughty meander and asked to visit my office. They glanced through my daily planner and other files and folders. I had already provided them with bi-weekly financial updates and goals, just as Margo had been doing for years.

As the governing body over the store, they provided very little supervising or advice for running the boutique. They did, though, approve my financial decisions sent to them in my regular reports. Per my request, one of them sent their code of conduct manual, which consisted of legal norms, rules, and responsibilities - and other common-sense material.

I knew from my limited work experience that the importance of ensuring legal and ethical compliance was a must. Safeguarding the boutique’s mission and values became of utmost importance to me.

Eventually, felt like forever, they left the store and made their way to the hotel’s adjoining restaurant. Which left me on pins and needles.

The cleaner came for her weekly paycheck, and I could swear I heard her negative thoughts reminding me that I am unworthy of such a job, or the look of respect that came with it.

I keep waiting for someone to figure me out – that I don’t belong in such a higher caliber of society, and I am only pretending to be someone I’m not.

Mrs. Hollow returned without the other two board members. She briefed me on how much they appreciated my dedication and commitment to the boutique. She also said I was consistently delivering high-quality work, and she would be in touch. Then she left.

I did it. At least for the time being, I did. I convinced not only one, but three founding members that I have what it takes to manage an upscale, bougie hotel boutique, effectively and with grace and composure.

I began treating the store as if it were my own. My mornings began with aligning my desk and my team for better connection. My daily walkabouts confirm that the store’s lighting, scent, music, and other aesthetics match perfectly with the hotel’s identity. I began branching out as concierge to build first-time shoppers into loyal customers. My week is now a continuous balance of keeping the boutique’s exquisite culture alive and flourishing. I will continue to grow and develop as a leader in this industry.

Mrs. Hollow’s approval empowered me to see myself in a different light. Maybe I am worthy of more in life. Maybe I am capable of higher expectations and responsibilities. While there’s nothing wrong with being a shoe-shiner, maybe, just maybe, I can become comfortable wearing the many entrepreneurial hats involved in being a resourceful operator of a sophisticated establishment.

Maybe the cleaner will keep her doubting thoughts and stares to herself and let me continue to branch upward.