It was quiet for a Saturday night. No sports teams, or weddings, or bus tour groups; just a few of our most common guests, and some guy, who prefers to be called, Nacho. Nacho was sitting in the lobby when I arrived; he was waiting for a cab. “Hi, you can call me Nacho.” He said. Nacho spoke to me as soon as I acknowledged him. Apparently I needed to know that he prefers the name, Nacho. I knew a lady, who had a chihuahua named Nacho. He was wearing skin-tight jeans. If I wore jeans that tight, my colon would be like my old play dough play factory, except I didn’t come with the handy shape-making attachments. My favorite was the spaghetti attachment. Nacho, was also wearing a blue, short-sleeve, collard shirt, with a poorly knotted tie that had marijuana leaves in a scattered pattern. Nacho, also had a mustache that looks more like a smudge, that his mom would try to rub off his face by first, licking her thumb, then smearing it over his upper lip. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m just waiting for my ride.”
“Cool. Nice to meet you, Mr. Nacho.”
“It’s just Nacho… Do you like my tie? I got it in Colorado. Weed is legal there.”
“It completes your entire outfit.”
“I was supposed to meet this girl, but I went to the wrong hotel.”
I felt as though he was talking to me, because he thought he needed to explain himself, but also because he seemed like the kind of person who can strike up a conversation with any random stranger, just about anywhere. I clocked-in, printed all the reports, and filed what needed to be filed. Nacho, was watching my every move. It was uncomfortable. “I think this place is haunted.” He said.
“Why do you think that?”
“I feel things. You know what I mean? Like, sometimes I can just tell.”
“This hotel is only about nine years old. I’m not sure if that’s enough time for a hotel to be around, and become haunted.”
“Did anyone ever die here?”
“I believe someone did die here, but it was before I started working here.”
“Well, then it’s probably haunted. When people die in hotels, they usually haunt them. It’s because they died here, and not someplace familiar to them. You can believe me. I know all about spirits.”
“Cool. So, you showed up to the wrong hotel?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” This is the part where I stood there, unsure how to respond. Imagine crickets chirping. “I hope she looks good.”
“You’ve met her before, right?”
“Just on my phone.”
“You met her on your phone?”
“That’s how people meet now. I swiped right, on her picture, and we matched. I said hello, and she asked me to meet up with her.”
“You met her on an app?”
“A couple hours ago. She looks like a model. I told her I wanna put her in my video I’m gonna make after I record my rhymes.”
“Mostly freestyle. I like to keep it real. I let my heart choose my words.”
“I hear ya. You gotta keep it real.”
A cab arrived, and Nacho walked out the door. I don’t think Nacho was actually meeting a model. He was most likely talking to a bot, or some random troll.
At 1:00am, the switchboard was ringing. The call was coming from room 419. I answered the call, but the person hung up. People sometimes do that. I ignored it. A moment later, there was another call from room 419. I answered the call, and again, the person hung up. According the computer, 419 was empty. Maybe Nacho was right about the hotel being haunted? I don’t believe in ghosts. Nobody can convince me that places can be haunted. Nacho was some goofy, guy with a wild imagination, and no fashion sense. The issue is obvious. Gremlins. Someone ignored our no pets policy, and brought in a mogwai, then fed it after midnight. They probably left water in the bathtub, which means we are going to have an infestation on our hands. I can’t flood the building with light. At least, not until morning.