The woman behind the counter works the swing shift, and her mind is as open as any mortal's. During daylight hours she had assisted an older American man, certainly drawn to her thanks to the subtle button on her lapel signaling her fluency in English. There's nothing unusual about the way the interaction begins. He asks about the restaurant in the hotel, and she's happy to provide information.
He then asks her to look up a guest's room number. Louis de Pointe du Lac, he tells her, and they have a brief exchange about how pretty that name is. But he's not a registered guest at the hotel. The American smiles and says that's alright, he just hasn't checked in yet, but can she hold this for him for when he shows up? Of course. He hands her an envelope with that name written on it, and she sets it aside behind the counter.
When he leaves, the man in line behind him - Indian or Bengali perhaps, she's not sure - leaves with him; she had assumed he was just another customer waiting. Apparently not. But there's yet another customer after, and so she moves on with her work day.
Until now, staring at Louis, waiting with a small smile to assist him. Only another hour or so left of her shift. She would like to go home.
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The woman behind the counter works the swing shift, and her mind is as open as any mortal's. During daylight hours she had assisted an older American man, certainly drawn to her thanks to the subtle button on her lapel signaling her fluency in English. There's nothing unusual about the way the interaction begins. He asks about the restaurant in the hotel, and she's happy to provide information.
He then asks her to look up a guest's room number. Louis de Pointe du Lac, he tells her, and they have a brief exchange about how pretty that name is. But he's not a registered guest at the hotel. The American smiles and says that's alright, he just hasn't checked in yet, but can she hold this for him for when he shows up? Of course. He hands her an envelope with that name written on it, and she sets it aside behind the counter.
When he leaves, the man in line behind him - Indian or Bengali perhaps, she's not sure - leaves with him; she had assumed he was just another customer waiting. Apparently not. But there's yet another customer after, and so she moves on with her work day.
Until now, staring at Louis, waiting with a small smile to assist him. Only another hour or so left of her shift. She would like to go home.