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Apparently, there are people out there who never listened when Big Bird said it wasn't nice to tell a lie.
Perhaps I should have suspected trouble immediately, because as the guest was checking in, one of her three sons, when he wasn't groaning around his balled fist, which he had shoved in his mouth, was industriously licking the handles of the lobby's glass doors.
To her credit, she did at least go to the room before pulling a reason to leave out of her ass. Or at least I think she did. Hard to tell, but at any rate, if she went she immediately came right back down to check out.
The comforters had tears and holes! The carpet was dirty! The handles were hanging off the drawers!
They couldn't possibly stay.
I had gone off to search for a luggage cart for another guest after she checked in, and when I came back down to the lobby, she was comparing rates with another woman in the lobby who had apparently found a rate about $11 cheaper than us, and I think it was awfully nice of her to continue to use her outdoor voice when telling me about what was wrong with her room.
Because there's a huge festival going on here tonight, I figured I could sell the room and checked her out. Then the woman she'd been talking to left also to take a room at the $11-Cheaper-Than-Us Motel-a-Rama. Of course, as soon as she was gone, I went up to inspect the room the licker's mom had looked at.
Nothing wrong. New comforters. Shadows, not dirt, on the carpet from where the grain was rearranged when the housekeepers vacuumed it. Handles firmly attached to drawers. An air conditioner purring like a kitten and the room nice and chilly.
Lying bitch. Perhaps she didn't like the location of the room. Perhaps she wanted to be on the first floor instead of the second. Perhaps she wanted to save $11. Perhaps there weren't enough disease-ridden door handles for her son to lick. Whatever the reason, it sure as hell wasn't the one she gave me.
I hope she finds centipedes in her bed wherever she ended up.
Perhaps I should have suspected trouble immediately, because as the guest was checking in, one of her three sons, when he wasn't groaning around his balled fist, which he had shoved in his mouth, was industriously licking the handles of the lobby's glass doors.
To her credit, she did at least go to the room before pulling a reason to leave out of her ass. Or at least I think she did. Hard to tell, but at any rate, if she went she immediately came right back down to check out.
The comforters had tears and holes! The carpet was dirty! The handles were hanging off the drawers!
They couldn't possibly stay.
I had gone off to search for a luggage cart for another guest after she checked in, and when I came back down to the lobby, she was comparing rates with another woman in the lobby who had apparently found a rate about $11 cheaper than us, and I think it was awfully nice of her to continue to use her outdoor voice when telling me about what was wrong with her room.
Because there's a huge festival going on here tonight, I figured I could sell the room and checked her out. Then the woman she'd been talking to left also to take a room at the $11-Cheaper-Than-Us Motel-a-Rama. Of course, as soon as she was gone, I went up to inspect the room the licker's mom had looked at.
Nothing wrong. New comforters. Shadows, not dirt, on the carpet from where the grain was rearranged when the housekeepers vacuumed it. Handles firmly attached to drawers. An air conditioner purring like a kitten and the room nice and chilly.
Lying bitch. Perhaps she didn't like the location of the room. Perhaps she wanted to be on the first floor instead of the second. Perhaps she wanted to save $11. Perhaps there weren't enough disease-ridden door handles for her son to lick. Whatever the reason, it sure as hell wasn't the one she gave me.
I hope she finds centipedes in her bed wherever she ended up.
I take it the "all characters/names in the book are fictitious except for the victims." is your "disclaimer"
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