A Five-Finger Guide To Stealing From Hotels

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Have you ever (ahem) “accidentally” taken anything from a hotel? Bet you never tried to fit an entire china set under your coat.

Grabbing a ballpoint from my desk drawer the other day, I noticed something: Every pen was a souvenir of my travels, sporting the logos of hotels from Los Angeles (The Montage—golden ink, hefty barrel) to Cape Town (Kensington Place—fat nib, comfy grip). Then a pang of conscience—after all, I’d essentially stolen every one of them. Sometimes it was forgetfully, stashed in a jacket pocket; often, though, I’d palmed those pens deliberately, a free reminder of my trip. When I started asking friends who work at hotels about this idea—'liberating' items as souvenirs—I was reassured: Compared to most guests, I’m a boy scout.

It isn’t eco-awareness that’s driving hotels to swap miniatures for massive toiletry bottles bolted to the bathroom wall, one pal told me. It’s to prevent excessive pilfering. "Check the room attendant’s trolley next time you pass it in the hotel corridor," he added. "It’ll be locked—too many people walking past and filling their purses with bottles of shampoo." It’s the same reason the remote control panel is often screwed down, now: Even at five-star properties, it might now be screwed shut to prevent its batteries being 'repurposed.'"

Eagle-eyed housekeepers can be relied on to spot sticky-fingered guests. Another friend, a veteran staffer at a luxury hotel in London, recalled the Plunder in a Teacup. That was when a room attendant saw some china peeking out from a guest’s bag; investigating, she found an entire service of the hotel’s custom china carefully wrapped and stashed inside. When challenged, the couple didn’t blink—unabashed, they were slightly bewildered, unwilling even, to return the stolen items. No wonder the plate or vase used for VIP amenities is so intentionally bland and nondescript.

A room attendant saw some china peeking out from a guest’s bag; investigating, she found an entire service of the hotel’s custom china carefully wrapped and stashed inside.

Some thefts, though, are truly egregious, like the pair who pilfered the two concrete lucky Fu Dogs that greet guests at the entrance of one Mandarin Oriental hotel. Apparently, they snuck down in the middle of the night and silently hauled those hundred-pound-plus sculptures into extra-large rollaboards. I almost want to applaud their brazen preparedness. As for my pens, I was apparently off the hook: A marketing manager explained that branded biros are treated as an overhead, since guests are expected to take them, turning the pens into free advertising. It’s much the same when it comes to umbrellas at luxury hotels, he continued. They’re tacitly expected to remain unreturned (notice how they rarely have a price tag on them, compared with the robes dangling nearby).

Hotels have responded to such sticky-fingeredness in different ways. A Starwood insider admitted the creation of its W store, an online portal to buy items that will turn your bedroom into your favorite hotel room, was intended to turn steals into sales. (See how the Keep Your Wig On pillow from the W Londonwas a top non-seller, and is now available to buy in that hotel’s onsite boutique.)

Other properties have turned to forgiveness, launching no-questions-asked amnesty periods when errant objets can be returned without shame or charge. The Marriott Mayflower in Washington, D.C. launched one in an attempt to recover items embossed with its signature sailing emblem, while the Waldorf-Astoria’s program in New York focused on antiques that had gone AWOL between 1931 and 1960. In the first few months of this program, it received more than 200 items, many of them solid silver; the most common item was the silver demitasse spoon from the hotel’s supper club in the 1930s, when it was the hottest nightspot in Manhattan. It prompted confessions, crises of conscience, and much criticism of genteel grandmothers.

But as those amnesties suggest, stealing from your suite isn’t new. In fact, it’s long been common in hotels—in part, perhaps, because of its strange impact on even the most strait-laced psyche. Though we’re never more identifiable and under surveillance than when we check into a hotel—we hand over ID, and there are discreet CC TV cameras covering every inch of the property—overnighting somehow liberates us from social norms and niceties. We think we can misbehave without consequence. It’s such a large part of hotels’ allure, I doubt Hyatt and co. would ever risk focusing too much on reducing losses. I won’t worry next time I palm a pen though.

Written by Mark Ellwood, www.cntraveler.com