October 27th, 2016
scraggle man walks into my lobby, doing the need-a-room fast talk. it's early yet, but there's a fee for that, just like anything you want in this world. 'lucky duck!' I sez, ‘we've got vacancy. it'll be this, plus that to get your ass parked in a room, dig?'
'alright man, let's do it! you guys got a hot tub?' he inquires, too rough for 0600... at least for this insomniac...
'unfortunately no. we've got a heated pool if you fancy that. I’m putting you upstairs in 208.' dejavu kicks me in the chest, but I brush it off
'is the room nice? got two beds? really looking forward to sleep...' he trails off, eyes wild and perked.
I tell him the gist of the rooms and other pertinent info as I punch in his credentials. computer spits it out that he's stayed here before... he nods when I mention it. swipe his card, it clears. grab the room keys, he states 'that's all I need.' he then asks where the room is.
'upstairs or elevator, to the left and out on the veranda (not sure that's what the glorified walk way is actually called, but people usually shut up quicker when fancy words get dragged out). it's also written on your room key.'
'ah thanks man, I appreciate it! just gotta grab something out of the car' he gruffs at me as he's walking out.
---
I file the paperwork and consider the conversation I had with a regular earlier this morning. older gentleman who stays here on business every week. he’s recommended some good tunes and is always friendly, my type of people at this hour. first words out of regular's mouth, 'so what is next for you?'
a solid question, which always defies an answer...
we chat a bit about my going's on, and his. as the conversation wheedles on, his intention gives way. with age's wisdom, he passes over his existentialist vibrations: we choose our purpose, but ultimately we should be flexible with what life lays in front of us. humans are, after all, versatile and adaptable to any situation, and we can accomplish great things with some mindful intention. his stated purpose: 'I enjoy the attention I get from other people. working at being a good person, a positive person, so that when people see me, they are happy to see me. that's what I want.'
I just want a damn garden to play in, with a few rabbits to bounce around with...
as I check him out of his usual room, he calmly tells me as he's leaving, 'with any luck, assuming I don't lose my job or anything like that, I'll be back in two weeks. maybe you'll be here too, maybe not... until then!'
I've long suspected a mask worn on this regular’s face. not one of malice, more of a coping mechanism. when we talk, his gaze reflects great sadness, a thousand yard stare, a deep well of life's experience. he's one of the few people I lock eyes with at this place, if not the only. depressives can sense each other, which is why he bubbled up this topic to me. he's been there, here, and still struggles, I see it, but chooses to push his mind towards contentment in a world of circumstance and hypocrisy.
a grounding trip every time we talk; a real soul in this tacky, counterfeit town.
---
the clang of the front door pops my thoughtful bubble. enter a new grizzled, portly man stage right. ‘where’s 208?’ he grunts at me, with a disheveled glance at my direction, directed at my shoes.
‘upstairs and to the left,’ I explain, motioning towards the stairs. and now I begin to wonder… I unlock the gym for an English guest staying the week, then start about my morning rounds to get this dump into shape for the next sucker that has to sit behind the front desk. as I unlock the doors and organize sugar and saccharine packets, scraggle man bursts into the lobby with his luggage… 5’5, black hair, perky tits in a pushup brassiere, the thin waste of a late twenties gal before life slams her into the steady decline of her 30’s…
now I recognize this scraggle man. he’s pulled this move before: last time it was with two pieces of luggage, and no extra package. this prostitute enthusiast, suspected meth binger, graced me with the sight of his hairless pecker a few months ago when I told him to shut his rambling mouth or close his wide open window at 0400. he disturbed a number of people that night and now he’s back in my hotel...
with his piece of ass in tow, as if lead by invisible leash attached to his wallet, dance in a daze, eyes half cocked. ‘where’s the room again?!’ he shouts, more enthused with his bitch in tow to impress.
‘upstairs and to the left, 208.’ they hit the elevator and get higher. by now I’ve run most of my course with the end of shift requirements, so I make myself another cup of bland, plastic wrapped mud before I finish the coffee bar upkeep. as I’m waiting for the machine to piss out my brew, I look out of the high glass of the lobby, onto the ever lightening sky. out of my peripheral, I see scraggle’s face poking out of 208, and we lock eyes. ‘great…’ I murmur to myself, machine vomiting out the remains of my drink. I hear the upstairs door click open, and here scraggle comes, pounding down the stairs just as hard as hit feet will fall.
‘ah man, I need some water.’ I point him towards the dispenser. ‘do you have any green tea that’s decaf?’ I show him the peppermint variety we carry. ‘can you make me a cup? I’m just going to drag a few puffs outside real quick. this drip is killing me! know what I mean’ he pulls out a pack of reds, dirty…
why yes, I’m well aware of what you mean...suspicions confirmed and only slight judgment passed
‘what the fuck, sure, I’ll make you a cup… it only requires two seconds of effort.’
he jerks out the door, inhales his smoke, and jumps back in after 70 seconds. moves towards the steam. grabs the brew, thanks me for the cup, tells me he’ll give me a good review for being such a bro, so I scrawl my name on a business card and slap it in his jittery hand. he pivots towards the elevator, spilling hot leaf juice on himself and cursing. the doors roll open and he clamors in to get higher.
‘get some sleep!’ I yell after him, both aware no sleep will come.