I discovered some time ago that the achieves at the SoMa Literary Review had gone bye-bye. This sucks ass because I had a couple of short stories that had been published there. It was kind of cool to be able to refer someone to an actual website rather than a personal blog. It sort of carried a little more sway.
Be that as it may, I thought I'd republish some of those stories here because, well it's been a few years and frankly I've got nothing new to post. A few folks have bitched about the lack of content here as of late. Maybe this will shut them up.
With that, I give you The Bellhop. And my apologizes for the lack of sway.
The Bellhop
“You wouldn’t believe some of the shit that takes place in these big hotels.” The Bellhop said as he lit his second cigarette. He offered one to the new guy as they stood out back on the loading dock. “I’ve worked here almost eight years now. I’ve been offered other jobs, “better” jobs they say. More money and all that shit but those other jobs don’t offer what this one does. Stories. Bellhops and room service attendants; the best jobs in the place for a writer.”
“How long will you be staying with us, Mr. Jacobs?” asked the hotel desk clerk
“As long as it takes to finish my business.” The man answered.
Jacobs, a well trimmed man in his late thirties with thick, shoulder length brown hair, smiled at the desk clerk, a pretty young thing of twenty-two. He leaned on the counter, casually flirting with her without even being aware of it.
The clerk handed him a key on a diamond shaped plastic ring. Jacob’s enjoyed the old fashioned touch of an actual key instead of a plastic card.
“The bellhop will bring your suitcase up in a few minutes Mr. Jacobs. You’ll be in room 1256 and the elevators are around the corner to your right. Enjoy your stay.”
Jacobs took the key and picked up his well-worn leather satchel leaving the large black suitcase at the front desk As he walked to the elevator he passed an open door leading to the loading dock where several hotel employees idled during their break. The smell of cigarettes, caught in the slight draft created as he passed the door, followed him to the elevator. Despite seven smoke-free years he still missed his cigarettes and had recently fallen off the nicotine wagon. He entered the elevator and pushed the button for the twelfth floor.
The new guy puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette while the Bellhop sucked greedily on his own. He’d become used to smoking them quickly in order to squeeze at least two into his ten-minute break.
“I’m telling you man, the shit that goes on in this place is amazing. A few months ago some big corporate blow got jacked by a couple of ten-dollar whores in one of the suites. Duct taped the poor bastard to one of those Roman column things they’ve got up there. Took his clothes, his wallet, his car, everything. I got the honor of cutting him loose when the maid found him the next morning. Ha! He was so fucked over trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get home without his wife catching on. I mean he had SHIT! Stark-fuckin’-naked. It was beautiful. The GM loaned him some clothes out of the housekeeping stash and added an extra hundred to his bill to front him some dough just so he could get some cloths and a cab home. This is AFTER he explained to the police what happened. God only knows what story he gave his wife.”
The Bellhop doubled over with laughter as the new guy finished his smoke and dropped it in the dented aluminum ashtray. He stood near the edge of the loading dock and surveyed the parking lot.
“I sure hope I don’t have to wait eight years for something interesting to happen around here,” he said. He turned and headed back inside punching the time clock mounted just inside the door.
Recent Comments