Sophie, or "Dimples" to her friends, pushed the housekeeping cart slowly to the next room on her list. She wasn't wearing any dimples on her cheeks after the ordeal she just had in the last room. "Christ," she groaned under her breath. "Three more to go. Fucking pigs."
There must have been some kind of wild orgy or something the night before in the room she had just cleaned; a room that should normally take 20 minutes, but took an hour and a half. Overflowing ashtrays, empty pizza boxes, empty beer cans, trash all over the place. The stains did come out of the carpet, but the king-size bedspread, sheets, pillow shams, even the pillows... ruined. And forget the towels! There's not enough Clorox in Clorox's plant to get those things sanitized and clean again.
"Fucking pigs and perverts," she grumbled again as she slipped the master card key into the slot for the next room down the hall. "My gawd, that was sure a lot of cum stains!" she kinda giggled when the door opened.
Room 517 wasn't so bad; compared to Room 515, this was the Taj Mahal! Nothing weird about this one, she figured. Just the normal stuff that she'd expect to find in a room the morning after. She walked inside and the sound of the shower startled her. It was well past check out time, so she wasn't expecting the room to still be occupied.
"Housekeeping!" she announced, tapping on the bathroom door. No answer. She knocked a little louder, but still got no response. 'Oh well!' she thought, 'I'll just have to come back for the bathroom... great. Overtime today, of all days.'
Room 515 had set her back quite a bit, and normally overtime wouldn't have bothered her, but she had made a date for tonight with a guy from out of town whom she'd met from some adult internet dating site, and wanted to take time to get herself all gussied up, just right. "Shit!" she grumbled, and went out into the suite to do what needed done there.
Just as she figured, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. No ripped curtains, nothing broken, no big stains on the carpet, no cum stains on the sheet. Just the usual stuff of a regular kind of man. His overnight bag lay open on the foot of the bed, beside a clean pair of white Fruit of the Looms; another pair, obviously the "worn" pair were on the floor with a pair of rumpled socks. She picked up both items with her finger tips and carried them at arm's length to the wall rack and put them in the courtesy laundry bag with the Holiday Inn logo.
"Nice threads," she smiled, noticing his street clothes hanging there, and reached down to pick up the Steeler's jersey that had apparently fallen off a hanger. For no apparent reason, though, and without even planning it, she held the shirt to her face and smelled the familiar scent. Old Spice, just like her Dad wears. She suddenly felt just a little giddy, thinking about her "date" that night. He too was from Pittsburgh.
"Enough of this!" she declared, and went back to the hallway to get a fresh supply of sheets and pillow cases from her cart. The shower was still running when she walked by the bathroom door, and this time she could clearly hear a tenor's voice above the noise of the spray singing what sounded like an old Brooks' & Dunn tune, but with a whole nother set of weird words to it. She listened for awhile and started laughing when she heard "Yeah! up, down, all around! You know Baby, you make me Giddy!"
"Oh my God!" she snickered under her hand, tears forming in her eyes as she tried to control what she knew would be a loud outburst if she didn't get away from that door, like right now. "Oh! Yes Ma'am, Hot Da-yum, dick in hand... I'm Goose Bump Giddy!" the man's song trailed off into the next verse.
