The Saudi Royal Family used to stay with us all the time at the Westin Seattle. They never arrived quietly — we're talking U-Hauls full of Louis Vuitton luggage, entourages, security, weeks (sometimes months) of occupancy. They tipped like royalty, too. Always generous. Always cash.
And always — always — a guy in sunglasses, holding a briefcase full of money. You do not look at that guy.
Whenever they checked into the Presidential Suite, which they always did, they had a habit of removing all our furniture and bringing in their own. Big, elaborate process — decorators, movers, all that. Just part of the gig.
The Mountain
But one particular visit in the late '90s stands out. This was right in the middle of the Beanie Baby craze — when people were treating plush toys like stocks and building fortunes (or trying to) off a small bear named "Princess."
I was called up to the suite to deliver something. Don't remember what it was — water, documents, tea service? Doesn't matter. What I do remember is walking into that grand entry foyer and finding a 10-foot-high mountain of Beanie Babies where our standard flower arrangement table used to be.
Hundreds, maybe thousands, all stacked up like some sort of plush Everest — bears, dragons, penguins, snakes. A ridiculous monument of synthetic fluff and collectability.
I remember thinking: What the actual hell is going on here?
But it was silent. My shoes clicked across the marble floor as I passed the mountain and was led deeper into the suite. The Prince was seated on a large carpet in a meditative pose. Peaceful. Serene. One of his assistants took whatever I brought. We exchanged the usual polite words. He asked how I liked Seattle — "Beautiful city," he said. I told him I was from California. He said his family was heading there next. "Also beautiful," he replied, smiling.
The $100 Bill
Then I made my way back out, shoes tapping, still in disbelief. As I passed the Beanie Baby mountain, one plushie slipped loose and hit the floor. Another assistant — not Sunglasses Guy — rushed in, picked it up, and carefully placed it back exactly where it came from. I swear, it had a specific spot.
As I reached the hallway, Sunglasses Guy met me.
"You deliver?" he asked. "Yeah," I said.
He peeled off a $100 bill from the thick wad in his hand. "Thank you."
Back in the Bell Closet, I was like: 1) $100 tip. 2) You will not believe what is in that suite.
At the time, some Beanie Babies were worth thousands. Maybe the prince was collecting? Investing? Worshiping? I have no idea. But it was a 10-foot-tall mountain of Beanie Babies, guarded by a quiet prince, silent carpets, and a man with mirrored sunglasses and a literal suitcase of cash.
Weirdest thing I've ever seen in a hotel room. And I've seen some things.