The second in a four part series of fiction entries:
Don't look at me that way.
Look, I was here first.
I made a reservation. That's what you do. You don't just show up during the busiest travel season of the year and just expect to get a room. I made this reservation months in advance--and got the room for a good deal too. And it's no ordinary room--not one of those "garden view" types that has you looking out a parking lot. This was a Gold Club room, private elevator, dedicated concierge, Jacuzzi tub in the room. And I'm booked through the end of the week.
Yeah, I know she was pregnant. And I felt bad. But by the looks of them they probably couldn't afford my room any way--or really any room here. I mean what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just give them my room, right? First come first served I always say. I wish I hadn't been in the lobby when they came, all po'faced and haggard, the girl breathing hard and the guy looking all stressed. They had me feeling guilty. But is it my fault they didn't plan ahead?
And even if I had given them my room, where was I supposed to go? I've got meetings all this week. Major presentations. I screw up, I lose the account, I maybe lose my job. I need to be well-rested, sharp. As busy as it is this week I'd have probably ended up camping out in a barn somewhere.
I don't know what happened with them. I heard the manager talking about working something out. I haven't seem them around this morning, so I guess they didn't stay here. But I hope they're okay.
Anyway, I gotta run. Some of us have important things to do. The boss is counting on me to save the world-- or this account anyway. You know how it is.
Take it easy.