Inside The Commodore Hotel: The Day I Met Ben — And Why The Stars Say It Changed Everything
Added on July 9, 2025 inASTROLOGY CARDS
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Ever wonder what happens when a peacock struts into a room full of ordinary pigeons? That, my friends, is pretty much the scene at the Commodore Hotel when Ben enters the stage—a whirlwind of charisma and chaos wrapped in a dark-skinned, mixed-race package that’s hard to ignore. With Mars firing up the celestial board today, bringing a boost of assertiveness and flamboyance, it’s only fitting that Ben’s presence ignites a combustible mix of admiration, irritation, and outright theatrics among the staff. Is he a tyrant or just the necessary spice in this steaming pot of personalities? As the pace quickens and the lunch rush hits full swing, watching Ben navigate the battleground of servers with equal parts bluster and charm is like catching sight of a shooting star—mesmerizing, a little dangerous, and impossible to look away from. So buckle up, because the drama is just warming up and control of the Commodore’s dining room is about to change hands—or rather, dance between two sharp-witted servers who are playing a game far more complex than the customers realize.
Catch up here: The Commodore Hotel – A True Story
By the time Tuesday rolled around, I was pretty much intimidated of entity, “Ben”, but highly curious to get a peek at him. There was nonstop debate about what should be done about him. There was constant heated exchanges between two waiters or a waiter and a cook or a waiter and Den Mother.
Mary Jane would look at me and wink. “What’d I tell ya. This is getting better each day!”
I was new on the job and still absorbing, but the song “How do you solve a problem like Maria”, run through my head a few times. Ben was, Maria!
I imagined him to be some kind of Ken doll with an edge. When he was quoted, this is the picture his words made in my mind. Whatever it was about him, the command he had over everyone was staggering. Apparently, he’d achieved this in less than a week. I didn’t understand what was so provocative about him. Then, right before lunch, a stranger walked in the back door. He was dark-skinned, mixed race. He was the only “African” in the place. Is that him?
“Are you the infamous Benjamin?”, I asked.
“Are they talking? Good. Are you, Elsa? You’re a cute little sprite, aren’t you? You’re not what I expected. I thought you were German. I’m glad we’re working together. I have wanted to meet you.” Then he was gone.
Well, I survived that. I guess I planned to keep quiet and observe. I thought he must be a tyrant, so I pretty much planned to stay out of his way. Instead he was right back to me and chatting me up. This was highly unusual.
I came to understand, very few gay men are interested in women, at all. I don’t care if they do your hair. They like men not women and that’s a fact. This was a damned shame because I had a lot of questions.
As a group, the men were professionally courteous to Patty, Mary Jane and I, but they preferred each other’s company, when time was available to chat. Who went where, and who did what with whom! The daily dish.
This made sense. It was not bothersome because they spoke freely and their conversations were lively. Lots of theatre and we, the peanut gallery, were allowed to laugh out loud at the stories. There was not a division especially. We were just so outnumbered, it was necessary to establish yourself in the ranks or you would be lost.
Patty Roundheels was senior. She could quip at them and they had no choice but to take it as she was a fixture in the hotel. I suspected, Mary Jane was supplying the entire place with their pot and so she had her place in the scheme of things. She would occasionally explain, she didn’t much sleep the night. She’d complain of someone’s shrill voice grating on her, but mostly she stayed very detached. I got the idea that she was profoundly bored by the men. Things really picked up for her when Ben and I came to work.
Ben was chatting me up. “How do like working the Commode-Door Hell?” Stuff like that. Boy, he was charismatic. It was undeniable. I couldn’t yet imagine what was giving people so much grief. I saw absolutely nothing, not to like. What am I missing?
The customers started to file in. Lunch began and built to a rush. This is when I saw, Ben, in full swing.
There’s an adrenalin rush for a server as the pace peaks during service. I saw him ride this to a crescendo. He was competent, brash, confident and extremely sexual without apology. He was strutting. He was a commanding force of nature, moving through the room, leaving a wake behind him.
Now I could see why he made people uncomfortable, but I got a zing off him. A huge zing. I was not afraid. I was not intimidated. I thought he was funny. He was excellent, and this was fine with me. I’m excellent too!
He made remarks in passing to the weaker links among the servers. They were rude to an extent, but I was secretly cheering him. Or maybe not so secretly. Perhaps I was laughing out loud. The adrenaline again! I really couldn’t help myself. I’d thought some of the types of things, he was now saying out loud.
As an excellent waitress, I can tell you, it’s obvious when you are working with someone who needs to find a new line of work. Someone who stands in the middle of the bottleneck panicking is prime example.
Making your way around these people until they get frustrated and quit or get fired, is part of the game. There are one or two, in every restaurant. They are obstacles! In the advanced game of waitress there are other ways of dealing with them – like doing your job and theirs just for sport. You know. Hotdogging.
It may sound cruel or heartless, but poor servers in a restaurant cost the competent ones and the business, big bucks. The customer who is just trying to get a cup of coffee and get to work on time gets creamed too. Ever been to a restaurant and had poor service? Of course you have. Ever walked out thinking “I won’t be back.” Of course you have.
If I’m a waitress, this is NOT what I want to have happen. I want a line out the door, so when Ben was telling some lousy waiter, they were “not attractive enough to be “kept”, so they best work a little harder, and at the very least get out of his way, well I thought that was funny. “I am here to make money!” he’s explained to confused dunce, standing in the door. He seemed to enjoy the dagger stares people would offer up. I thought that was even funnier. Can’t they see he’s playing? Why no sense of humor?
Eyes in the back of his head, he noted my appreciation. Soon we were dancing together, like magic. Imagine two servers doing their jobs with perfect execution while grinning and same time passing a basketball between them, in Globetrotter fashion, just because they could.
End of lunch, we were fast friends. We also had total control of the dining room at the Commodore Hotel.
To be continued.
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