LISA CHEUK IS IN the business of keeping people happy. No matter how ordinary or bizarre the request, she goes to extraordinary lengths to make sure the customer is satisfied. Today she's where she can be found six days a week, at her concierge's desk in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Central.
The first challenge of the day, as she likes to think of them, is a famous Korean singer who has called her with a request. Like most such guests, he expects that Cheuk will be able to grant his wish. But just how do you find a Korean-speaking Putonghua teacher in Hong Kong on a Saturday? 'He has two days and wants to learn Mandarin,' says Cheuk, as if this were perfectly normal. Such are the demands made of a five-star hotel concierge.
Cheuk is unique in these parts, being the only female chief concierge in the SAR and China. She wears with pride her Les Clefs D'Or badge, which signifies membership of the most elite and prestigious band of concierges in the world. Making her way up the male-dominated ranks of her profession has taken determination, plus an unflappable nature and a perma-smile that can never crack on duty.
And there are times when the 30-something Cheuk's ingenuity is severely tested. Like the female guest who rang down one Sunday morning - these things always happen on Sundays or public holidays - after a late night. She had awoken to find, inexplicably, the ring she usually wore on her little finger jammed on her wedding finger. Could Cheuk arrange for its instant removal please, as her finger was swelling and turning puce?
Cheuk called the doctor but nothing worked, neither ice, nor soap and water nor grease. The expensive Russian wedding-style Cartier ring refused to budge. The woman said emergency surgery was out of the question as her plane was leaving in three hours.
By now, recalls Cheuk, the finger was turning an ominous shade of purple as the circulation ceased. Cheuk racked her brain, a jeweller was called but not even the finest wire could be slid between metal and swollen flesh. Finally she recalled a friend with a jewellery factory in Aberdeen. She knew he had very fine cutting equipment. Calling in every possible favour, she persuaded someone to come and grind through the metal bands. The ring was finally off. 'I still have no idea how she got it on in the first place,' says Cheuk, who received a letter of thanks.