Page 75 of Shade
Working the front desk at a hotel is very different from the housekeeping side. Instead of cleaning up after the hairy man who always stays on the eighth floor and uses dental floss to clean his fingernails, I have to be nice to his face and not think about how I know all his dirty secrets.
At the front desk you have to greet everyone, you can’t close elevator doors on them. You have to be caring to their needs and not cuss them out when you find out the woman in room 467 started her period or was stabbed to death in the general vicinity of her vagina.
You have to be composed and not laugh your ass off when the wannabe porn star couple making amateur porn in their room forgets the video camera, and you watch it in the employee break room.
You have to smile and not flip them off.
There are days when I enjoy it, and then there are others when I think to myself, why am I doing this?
Then I remember it’s how I pay rent.
You’re probably wondering about now if I have any idea what I want to be when I grow up. I assure you it’s not working in a hotel. When I was a kid, I wanted to be an actress or even a model, but those are pipe dreams. Truth is, I don’t know what direction I’m going in. Believe it or not, I love working in customer service and solving problems under pressure.
For example, take a look at the man in front of me wanting a room booked for the next week when we have no vacancy. The one who smells like leather and Lotus, like his car parked in the drive Tom’s drooling over.
In the hotel world, most of the time, no vacancy is a lie. Now before you go beating up the chick behind the counter, or man in some cases, demanding they rent you a room, keep in mind the rooms they do have available are usually out of service rooms. Like ones with leaks or broken TVs, or in this case, mystery stains on the carpet we’re attempting to get out and said fuck it, let’s recarpet the entire room.
“I know you have a vacancy,” he starts out saying, winking at me.
Take a look at him. He’s an attractive business man in his late forties. Another time, I probably would have invited myself to show him a room, maybe even helped him unpack, but not now, not since Shade. It’s like he branded my pussy and she’s waiting for her master to return.
Shit, that sounds creepy.
Anyway, back to the man demanding a room we don’t technically have. I’m all about giving customers what they want and doing it without causing a scene or involving Mila, who doesn’t have time to deal with this shit too during her already busy day.
“Mr.?” I wait for him to tell me his name.
“Cruz. Travis Cruz.” Do you see the way his eyes dart around? That’s not his fucking name.
I lean in, smiling. “Okay, Mr. Cruz. . . here’s the thing. We arecompletelybooked aside from the rooms we have out of service at the moment.”
“What’s out of service mean?” His brow rises, his impatient fingers drumming against the counter. I notice his wedding ring, and then the woman seated in the lobby to the left of him. The same woman I noticed last night, and the night before, and the night before that. Can you say hooker?
I bet Mr. Cruz can.
“Well, it means if you are you know, just looking for a place to sleep and don’t care about the television working, I can hook you up with a room.”
His eyes light up, his once sagging I-don’t-get-to-fuck-her-tonight posture straightening. “For a discounted rate?”
Guaranteed, the suit he’s wearing cost more than my rent for three months, and that’s saying a lot given Seattle is expensive as fuck to live in. And two, his alimony from his soon-to-be I-can’t-keep-my-dick-out-of-hookers is about to be a whole hell of a lot more than a night, or hour, at Wellington Suites.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Cruz, I can’t offer you the room at a discounted rate.”
He curses under his breath and his cheeks flush, and in case you didn’t know it, he’s angry with me for not giving him a deal. “Whynot?”
“Because the room isn’t in service, therefore I can’t discount it. I’m technically not supposed to be booking the room, but I would, for you,” I lie through my teeth. I can discount the room, I’m just not prepared to for this guy so he can cheat on his wife.
What do you think? Do you think Mr. Cruz here is going to take me up on my you-shouldn’t-fuck-around-on-your-wife scam?
I’m sure he does, but apparently, the hooker’s pussy is made of gold because he rents the room at full price.
Why’d I tell you all this? Because I can and see, I know how to do my job and I do it well if you ask me. I’m not so sure Mr. Cruz, who’s currently glaring at me as he hands over his credit card, would agree but guess what?
I have his credit card and I’m good at stalking, I can easily find Mr. Jay Hein’s wife and inform her of his infidelity. But I don’t.
Mila approaches as he’s walking down the hall, lobby hooker on his arm, and stares at them. “I only heard part of that, but did you just make him pay full price for the room in the east wing missing the television and a window?”
I shrug. “It’s summer, and I doubt they’ll even notice the window’s missing.”
