"This is unacceptable!"
The shout came from the front desk and I looked up from my laptop, startled. I hadn't heard the elevator or the doors -- how did someone sneak up on me so easily? I stood, straightening my hotel name tag, and exited the back room -- wondering what all the fuss was about.
There was a man standing at the front counter in nothing but a pair of shorts, his face red with rage. He looked like he was maybe in his 40s, and I remembered him checking in the previous day -- Mr. Brooks. He was in one of the suites, some sort of important businessman. The staff had been instructed to make sure he stayed happy, and we had apparently failed.
"I'm sorry Mr. Brooks, what seems to be the problem?" I asked, all profession and poise.
"This! All of this!" He shouted, waving his arm, gesturing -- in effect - to the entire hotel.
"I'm sorry sir -- what's going on?" I asked, a little scared at this point. I was new at the hotel, and had never seen a guest so angry.
"This whole hotel is an utter disaster," he hissed. "The room is too hot, the air conditioner doesn't work, the T.V. Is shit, the bed is hard. I am in a SUITE for god's sake -- I shudder to think what your normal rooms look like!"
My eyes widened as he spoke. As far as I knew, nothing he said was true. Furthermore, he hadn't bothered to ask for help with any of it until 2 in the morning. I did my best to look polite and concerned. "I'm so sorry, sir. I'd be glad to move you rooms, if you like. The fourth floor might be a little cooler at least."
This didn't seem to appease him at all.
"What?" he demanded, "What- you're going to give me another shitty room to make up for the first one being shitty?" He laughed at this - "No, no. Tell you what. You're going to refund my room, and buy me another room at a different hotel -- alright?"
I shook my head, flustered, "I-I'm sorry sir, I'm not authorized to do that. You can call my general manager tomorrow, she might be able to refund the room."
Before I was half finished with my sentence, Mr. Brooks was shaking his head, his hands balling into fists. "No, no. This wont do," his angry gaze met my frightened stare, and then he began to look down, his eyes raking over my body, taking in my short blonde hair, pale skin and DD chest. A shadow of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth.
"You can be sure I'll call your manager tomorrow. I'll tell her how rude you were -- how unhelpful. See if you keep your job, eh!" he laughed, pleased with his malice. "I'll tell her how you ignored me, told me to suck it up and sent me back to my room."
My heart shot into my throat, pulse thundering, "But sir, that's not what I meant at all! I didn't say those things!"
His smile was a wicked thing as he answered, "Who is she going to believe?" He laughed, beginning to walk away from the counter.
I was panicking, desperate. My job was in danger, for something that wasn't my fault. Pinpricks of tears sprang to my eyes as I called after him,