A young man in his 20’s walked inside the hotel and slapped $25.00 on the counter. He looked serious. He looked like a man who knows how to get shit done. He spoke like a man who knows he is the boss of his own life. “I need your best room for a couple of hours. All I’m gonna give you is twenty-five, cash money.” He said. I looked outside, and saw a woman standing next to his car, smoking a cigarette. She looked like she just left the Botox party in the sketchy part of town.
“You and your mom only need a room for just a couple of hours?” The way his eyes became round almost made me laugh.
“That’s not my mom. Man, you must be crazy.”
“I apologize. We don’t sell our rooms by the hour. I can only offer you a room for $109.00 for the night for you, and your fiance.”
“She isn’t my fiance. Fool, I just met her tonight. I am not paying you that much money to get laid.” I took a step back, and put a hand out in-front of me like a crossing guard.
“Whoa, buddy. You’re not my type.” He didn’t get the joke.
“What the hell? Man, quit messing around and give me a room.” The guy wasn’t messing around. I was. I had no intention of selling him a room, and it gets boring working the audit shift. People like him make work fun.
“My apologies. It sounded like you were soliciting me for sex. Perhaps you should have said something like… I’m not paying you that much money for a room, to get laid… Unfortunately, I can’t sell you a room by the hour, and I have to charge you $109.00 for the full night. I also need a credit card.” The woman he picked up in some sketchy place walked in She was more scary up-close.
“Baby, I’m gonna need to take a shower real quick, first.” I threw up a little in my mouth. Do you ever see the before and after pictures of meth addicts that make the rounds all over social networks? She was the after pictures. All of them.
“I can’t sell you a room for $25.00. I have to charge you for the full night. I will need a credit card on file. No exceptions. If this doesn’t work for you, I suggest you try the hotel across the street, or a truck-stop motel.” The woman became more excited than I expected.
“Do they have hot-tubs across the street?” She said.
“Yes. They have the kind with jets under the water.” I said, with a wink. The man took her arm, and the two of them walked out. She looked excited. He looked pissed off. I was glad they left.
A few minutes later the hotel across the street called me as part of the usual routine. Hotels contact each other with availability information three times a day. The lady working the desk over there asked for my numbers, and then gave me their numbers.
“Did you tell some guy with a hooker that we have jetted hot tubs here?”
“That was a hooker? I thought it was his mom.”
“What made you think that? I didn’t sell them a room. They said you told them I would.”
“I told them they could try your hotel, but I never said you would sell them a room… I once met a pimp, named Big Rick. He told me that his mother was a prostitute, and her pimp was the closest thing to a father in his life. He said his mother’s pimp taught him how to be a pimp, and that’s how he got into pimping.”
“Where the heck did you meet a pimp? She sounded interested.
“We work in hotels. I bet you have met a hand-full of pimps while working.”
“I haven’t noticed any.”
“When some guy shows up for a room, brings a lady with him, then immediately leaves without her. He is most likely her pimp.”
“Oh my God! I’ve seen that happen here!”
“Welcome to the audit shift.” We ended our conversation with that. She had a guest who needed her attention. Do the housekeepers wear rubber gloves when stripping the beds? I sure hope so.