Short Stories from Hotel Managers 4


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By a little sour I mean the weather was sort of overcast, the temperature crawling around the mid to high teens, Celsius of course. None-the-less, the guests weren’t having any of it, demanding to be accommodated in the main hotel, which of course had central heating. Just when I thought it was time to intervene and put my fledgling Greek to the test in the hopes of delivering some genial satisfaction to our guest’s angst, mater appeared in a flash of rustling nylon, nostrils bristling for battle, a yellow biro ensconced between thumb and forefinger, a sure sign that she had been abruptly disturbed from whatever she had been doing. She threw me a knowing look which I should have interpreted but didn’t, kicking myself for not having had the courage to sort out the problem before it reached her ears. I inadvertently cringed as she approached the guests in a gallop, her ample posterior reverberating like an interior sprung mattress, arresting her free hand on her hip as if to say ‘come on then, have a go at me and see where that get’s you’. The couple were momentarily startled, parting and leaning back to behold the portly figure that had invaded their personal space. The two kids gawped in incredulous anticipation, taking in what must have looked like Asterix’s mate or a dragon about to erupt. As mater’s furled lips parted in the split seconds before engagement, half of me prayed that a hole would open in the polished marble floor and swallow me up, whilst the other more sadistic side wanted to witness the mauling that was about to ensue.

Stephen G

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