by benji on Sat Jun 12, 2010 8:41 pm
As I step out into the atrium seating...no. No. No, not that. The man I least wanted to see at this moment. Waltzing in like he owned the place, maybe he does, I don't know anymore. Demanding the top floor suite. Demanding "what you'd give the President of the United States! What you'd give The Pope!"
I should have stayed in my room. Could have been ignorant of what is happening in this place. Focused on my mission. Focused on the two newlyweds, the staff, but no, I had to wander out. The wait, the delay, everything sapped at my curiosity. Those bottles, that TV, the lack of view, it drove me out. I almost know the language at this point. Then again, I've been drunk during most of this stay, so maybe I don't know anything at all. Maybe I'll float some of what I think I've learned on some of these waitresses. Drunk lonely pervert is a pretty good cover. Never fails that I have seen. Until you're arrested that is.
I can't believe a meeting like this was delayed for no reason though. There has to be a reason.
But maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he thought I belonged with everyone else in this hotel. Maybe he thought I was just another flange salesman and he was relaying a delay in their desperate justification of their existence they call a meeting. Not that I should criticize those who actually try to make a living. There will always be a need for those in my field no matter what the economic conditions. Not so for most people. But what if I took that contact as related to my job and have thrown off the entire operation? Where does this put everything? Are my contacts rotting in a jail in this country? Are people going to die? What is the deal with flanges? Was it a double cover?
Wait, why is there an international flange convention being held in this hellhole of a country of all places? Sure, it's not Canada, but it's close. Staring at the desert steppes could dull a persons senses, but we can't lose our focus, we have to question why here. Of all places, why here?
I notice that John has tensed up cleaning that glass over and over again. It's clear of spots, John, put it down. I turn and glance at what he's staring at. His eminence has moved on towards the elevators, his staff surrounding him like a gauntlet. This is not what really controls my attention. It's the newlyweds, they've suddenly made an appearance. My days of drinking down here and I've never seen them, if they aren't actually ransacking and trying to hastily rebuild my room as I stumble with the card, they're probably sneaking out the window. The bellhop who usually comes to my room is standing by the carts pretending to wait for new patrons.
I reach down and I'm not armed. If something goes down I can't do anything. Everything is hidden behind that tile. With the amount of alcohol I'm consuming I don't trust myself. Especially with my increasing paranoia. Most nights when John says the bar is closed and I have to go back to my room, I pace continuing to drink until I pass out. I can't sleep normally, I think too much. About what? About everything.
One thing I think about is when I mentioned Billy Joel. John made some kind of joke about how I shouldn't try to take a drive or I'd wind up in someones house too. I drunkenly looked up and said "what?" He said that the house always wins. I didn't understand it and still don't. It's an adage, but what does it mean? What house? This hotel isn't attached to a casino. I've never lost gambling. I can't figure it out. It's one of the things that occupy my mind and keep me up at night.
When I was offered this gig, I said "sure, what could go wrong?" Now I know. Everything. I realize something is happening here. Sending me here was not chance. The Meeting was not meaningless. There is a reason I am here. There is something I must do. I just have to put the pieces together and fast. I have to make sure there is time for me to act. But what... What is going on? What can I do?
The TVs, the TVs in the hotel bar. They're on the same channel as the one in my room. What is going on?
Am I going mad? Or is there something actually happening here?
What's that, the newlyweds, they're moving to catch the elevator. What are they doing? Should I make sure I'm on there with them? I hear my dead dog's barks and the infomercials echoing in my mind. I stand and reach for...
Re: the length and the rules, fuck you, I'm picking up after six months and it's my thread, my rules. I won't ban and murder anyone who goes past five paragraphs though, seven or more though...