The Disgruntled Former Employee: The Unpaid Consultant Nobody Hired
There is a figure who appears with some frequency in the world of hospitality and whom, over the years, I have learned to regard with a mixture of curiosity, resignation and, why not admit it, a certain degree of amusement. They do not appear on the organisational chart, no longer wear a uniform, do not take part in team meetings and handed over the hotel keys long ago. Yet they remain extraordinarily present. This is the disgruntled former employee, a professional who, curiously enough, seems to discover their full analytical potential on the very day they cease to be part of the organisation.
During their time at the hotel, they may have barely had the time or inclination to complete their tasks or propose specific improvements. But once they are gone, something almost miraculous happens: they develop an infinite capacity to analyse absolutely everything. Suddenly, they master commercial strategy, revenue management, gastronomy, maintenance, the guest experience, recruitment, marketing, accounting and, if the conversation goes on long enough, probably the building’s engineering as well. It is fascinating to see how some discover their true calling as consultants precisely when no one has asked for their opinion anymore.
The hotel where everything was going wrong... until they left
The most striking aspect of the disgruntled former employee’s narrative is not that they criticise certain decisions, because every hotel makes mistakes and every organisation has room for improvement. What is truly interesting is that, in their version of events, absolutely everything was going wrong. There is not a single department worthy of recognition, not one sound decision, not one competent person. Senior management did not know how to manage, middle managers did not know how to lead, colleagues did not know how to work, suppliers were constantly deceiving everyone and guests, apparently, were barely surviving such an organisational disaster.
The remarkable thing is that, while listening to such an apocalyptic description, one cannot help asking a very simple question: how did that hotel manage to open every morning? Because, surprisingly, rooms continued to be sold, guests kept arriving, the restaurant kept serving breakfast, beds were made every day and the business, far from collapsing under the weight of such collective incompetence, continued to operate quite normally.
There is also a very curious phenomenon related to memory. The more time passes since they left the company, the worse the hotel becomes. It is a kind of emotional inflation. What initially was a disagreement with a manager gradually turns, over the months, into an utterly chaotic organisation where nobody had the slightest idea what they were doing. Memory, when fuelled by resentment, possesses a frankly admirable creativity.
The syndrome of the indispensable protagonist
Some people become convinced that an entire organisation revolved exclusively around them. While they were there, the hotel functioned thanks to their talent. From the very moment they left the company, a kind of countdown to its final collapse begins. It is an argument as common as it is unoriginal.
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Reality, however, is usually far less dramatic. The hotel industry has been teaching us a very healthy lesson for decades: we are all important, but no one is indispensable. Hotels survive changes in ownership, general managers, chefs, executive housekeepers, receptionists and commercial leaders. Exceptional people join, and excellent professionals also leave, because a strong organisation is designed to keep operating regardless of who occupies each role.
Curiously, those who most insist on reminding everyone that they were indispensable are often the ones who need to convince themselves of it. Truly good professionals rarely need to explain it. Their work continues to speak for them long after they have left.
The strange lifelong love affair with the company they supposedly hated
There is a contradiction that I have always found particularly amusing. The disgruntled former employee devotes much of their conversation to explaining how unbearable it was to work at that hotel. They speak of a disorganised company, incompetent management, impossible working conditions and a suffocating atmosphere. Up to this point, everyone has the right to experience things as they see fit.
What is truly curious is to see that, months or even years after leaving that dreadful company, they continue to devote a wholly disproportionate amount of time to it. It is difficult to find a more intense relationship than the one they maintain with a place they supposedly would never wish to return to.
In the end, one begins to wonder who has not managed to move on. Because when we have genuinely moved beyond a professional chapter, we normally stop making it the main topic of our conversations. We continue with our careers, learn from what we experienced and look ahead. Remaining indefinitely stuck in the past is rarely a sign of professional growth.
Reputation also belongs to the person doing the criticising
In hospitality, we constantly talk about corporate reputation. We worry about reviews, online opinions and word of mouth among our guests. Yet there is another reputation that is far quieter and, probably, far more important: people’s professional reputation.
Whenever a former employee constantly speaks badly of every company they have worked for, they are convinced that they are damaging those organisations’ image. What they rarely realise is that those listening are also forming an opinion about them.
Because the question arises automatically. If today they speak this way about those who were once their colleagues, those who gave them a professional opportunity and those with whom they shared years of work, what will they say about us when they leave our company too?
Trust is an extraordinarily delicate asset. It takes years to build and only a few minutes to sow doubt. That is why constant criticism often says far less about the hotel they left and far more about the person who still needs to justify their departure.
When someone else’s success becomes unbearable
There is one final detail that always sparks my curiosity. The disgruntled former employee seems to experience profound disappointment whenever they discover that the hotel continues to function reasonably well without them. They expected to find a sunken ship and instead encounter a property that continues to welcome guests, receive positive reviews and develop new projects.
Far from being pleased for former colleagues with whom they shared so many working days, some feel a strange need to prove that failure will come sooner or later. It is as though the company’s success automatically invalidated the narrative they have spent so long constructing.
Mature organisations, however, do not need to prove anything. They simply keep working. While some invest their energy in explaining why everything is going wrong, others use it to improve processes, develop teams, serve guests and continue growing. And that is usually a far more productive difference.
In the end, all of us will leave a hotel at some point in our professional careers. The difference will not lie in the company we leave behind, but in the memory we leave with those who remain there. I have found that truly valuable professionals tend to depart gracefully, grateful for what they learned, acknowledging both successes and mistakes, and sincerely wishing their former colleagues well. Not because everything was perfect, but because they understand that professionalism is also demonstrated when a chapter comes to an end.
Resentment may provide material for conversation for a while, but it never builds a career. Elegance, on the other hand, has an extraordinary virtue: it opens doors even many years after one has walked out of them. And that, at least in my experience, is usually the best possible farewell.
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