Redefining Exclusive Carpet Cleaning
If you work in a customer-oriented service industry in central London, sooner or later, you will end up working for an exclusive client. It might be the CEO of a quickly rising tech company, a hedge fund shark, a Saudi royalty, or a Chinese multi-millionaire visiting the city on business. But nothing beats the story I am about to tell you. For obvious reasons, I will change the names of all participants, and I will keep the concrete details about the location private.
I was having an uneventful Tuesday morning, catching up on some office work, when my phone started buzzing. “I can definitely stretch my legs”, I thought to myself, hoping this would be a carpet cleaning quote allowing me to run away from filling Excel spreadsheets. The voice on the other side of the line was calm and suave, with an almost velvety tone – the sophisticated yet official tone of a professional.
“I am looking for Mr. Chris Standall.”
“It’s Mr. Standall speaking”, I responded, my interest quickly picking up.
The man on the phone presented himself and mentioned the source of positive feedback that made him contact me – a regular high-end customer. “The establishment I represent is looking for a high-quality one-off carpet cleaning service. While I am confident you sustain the highest performance standards, the job also requires a certain level of discreetness.”
“I will be more than willing to sign a confidentiality agreement if that will work for you”, I responded immediately, having more than enough experience in this regard. My quick retort impressed the man, and he went on to give me more details about the job.
If I was mildly amused and interested at the very start of the conversation, my excitement grew with every passing sentence. The man I was talking to was the chief maintenance manager of a high-end private members club located in the heart of London, not a quarter of a mile away from Victoria Station. He wanted to book a deep-cleaning procedure for the carpets in the club’s library – a spacious salon, forty by twenty feet, flanked by heavy wooden shelves of books with plush, Victorian-style armchairs and a few tables. There were two extra large, natural-fibre carpets parallel to each other, looking in pretty good condition, if I could judge from the pictures the manager sent me.
“We have the last Sunday of each month assigned to maintenance and cleaning services. The club will be empty, and you will have all the time in the world to finish the necessary procedures. Does this work for you?”
A quick glance at the calendar and my working schedule confirmed I had no other bookings for Sunday (the phone conversation happened during the last week of the respective month – hardly a coincidence, I thought.) But even if I had bookings, I would have rescheduled them – the opportunity was too good to miss.
The next few days were mundane. The confidentiality agreement arrived via mail, and I sent it back with my signature fixed. I did my homework – the private club was one of the oldest and most exclusive in the city, which is a mouthful for a place like London, obsessed with tradition and privilege. No matter how hard I tried, though, I could not find a list of past members, which only teased my interest more.
Finally, Sunday came, and I loaded my equipment in one of our minivans. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so giddy for a job. I arrived at the address and parked at the service entrance, strictly following the instructions I had received in an email. My host was waiting for me, and for once, the voice matched my impression – an impeccable three-piece suit, the sophisticated manner of an Oxbridge graduate, the self-confidence of someone in complete control.
I must say I’ve had high-end customers before, but nothing could come close to the opulence and style of the club’s interior. It was a marble and mahogany affair all the way, with high mirrors in the hallways and aristocratic portraits on the walls. The club’s library looked like the movie set of a Victorian period drama – the pictures my host had sent me did not do it justice, nor would my description. You have to see it to appreciate its beauty and impeccable style.
The only challenge related to the carpet cleaning was moving the furniture. But we had discussed it on the phone, and the manager had a few guys from the staff helping me lift the armchairs carefully and moving them out of the way. It was a quick, straightforward hot water extraction, followed by applying Scotchgard protector – both carpets required just under 80 minutes overall.
The manager and I did the final inspection, and he was perfectly satisfied with the job. Just before I left, I couldn’t help myself and did something I had promised not to do. “I know I shouldn’t be asking this”, I turned to my host, “but I couldn’t find any information online about your past members. I am a bit of a history buff, so could you share any fascinating person, long gone, of course, who was a member?”
My host gave me a Sphynx-like smile. “We pride ourselves on protecting our members’ privacy. Hence, you were unable to find any such information. But since we are talking about history, let me say this – we’ve had more than a few PMs as our members, including the only one who was a member of both the Tories and the Liberals.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. There was only one prime minister my host could be talking about. He gave me the slightest of nods of confirmation, and then we shook hands – as accomplices in our little breach of historical secrecy.
Disclaimer: I contacted the establishment described in this post and got their permission to publish the story, granted that no names and details will be mentioned.