Page 42 of Burn

I can’t stop thinking about him.

You know when you go shopping and you find the perfect pair of jeans but you put them back because they’re too expensive? Or maybe it’s the perfect shoes.

You tell yourself, nope, I’m not going to do it, and you leave.

But the next day you can’t stop thinking about the jeans. You think about them all day long, and suddenly nothing you have or ever wore is as good as those jeans you saw in the store.

That’s how I feel about Caleb Wednesday morning when I’m supposed to be working. It’s so bad I want to drive by his apartment, maybe search every apartment for him because even though I checked the cross streets when I was leaving, I didn’t make a note of the apartment number so I suppose I’d have to knock on a number of doors to find him.

On my way to the hotel, I stop by Starbucks for coffee. I really wish there were more drive-through ones in Seattle, but sadly, there’s not. And parking in Seattle is a goddamn nightmare most of the time. I got in a fight over a parking spot once. I think most people in this city have.

There’s a line out the door, also standard for the Northwest. We love our coffee, and we’re snobs about it. I once traveled to Florida for a meeting and tasted their coffee. I gave it back to the barista and asked if it was a joke. Sadly, it wasn’t.

As I’m standing in the steadily moving line, my phone rings and a message comes through. It’s Heather wanting to know why there’s a double booking on The Courtyard for New Year’s Eve. It’s not double booked. She’s constantly getting The Courtyard and The Terrace confused, which is why she’s the front desk manager and doesn’t have my job.

I don’t like to communicate with any managers through texting. I find it unprofessional and something my father taught me early on. Never communicate through e-mails and text messaging goes along with it. If you need to have a conversation with someone, pick up the phone.

This only applies to my job. Outside of work, if someone calls me, I get upset. I will only text.

Trying to not be that asshole on the phone in line, I send her calls to voice mail and glance up at the menu above the registers. I don’t know why I look. I get the same thing every morning.

Venti iced Americano with cream and one pump of chocolate.

As I’m preparing to order, I notice a girl with familiar black-framed glasses making drinks to my left.

I’m trying not to stare, but I remember her from somewhere. I just can’t place where. This happens to me all the time, given working in the hotel industry where I see thousands of people a week.

She smiles at me when I place my order and when I get my cup, I know exactly where I know her from because written in sharpie on the side of the cup is “Caleb says hi!”

Say what?

Excitement shoots through me as I do a double take at her only to have her wink at me and push her glasses up her nose. I smile, unsure what else to do and the prickly sensation in my armpits return.

Christ, why couldn’t she have written his phone number on the cup? Or better yet, I should have ran back in there and asked about it. Asked if he talked about me yesterday.

He probably didn’t. I think I’d be disappointed if he did because what kind of guy goes around talking about a girl he slept with the night before?

None I want to hang out with.

BY THE TIME I arrive at work, I know I’m in deep because I’m ready to Google Caleb, especially after seeing his roommate. Or then there’s the thought of pulling all the fire alarms and fainting with the hopes he responds to the call to give me mouth to mouth. Firefighters do that, right?

But then I walk through the lobby of Wellington Suites and realize there’s no time for it because there’re rooms that have been double booked, a VIP arriving tomorrow, a convention for hundreds of guests that need tending too and department heads with needs.

I spend the majority of my day with managers and making sure guests get checked in okay, and their wants are meant. Running a hotel is a lot like preparing for a dinner party but doing that every single day. You want your place clean and enough food and refreshments for your guests. You also have to consider everyone has different tastes and no two guests are the same.

When your guests arrive, you want to make them comfortable and ensure they’re having a good time. At the same time, you have to make sure dinner is ready on time, and everything is exactly the way they want it. With as many restaurants as we have here in the hotel, that’s a huge task in itself.

And then once the party is over and your guests are leaving, you have to clean up the mess. Even the ones who had too much to drink, acted like an asshole and puked all over your white carpet. For a start, nevereverhave white carpet, but you get my point. It’s a lot of work hosting a party.

Now imagine doing that every single day and your house has 100 plus rooms and all your guests are spending the night, and they want breakfast in the morning.

That’s exactly how running a hotel can be.

On top of that, we have hotel employees with their own needs because they’re just as important as the guests. If we didn’t have employees, we wouldn’t have the guests. If you have unhappy staff, the guests know this, and in turn, it makes their experience awful, and you get bad reviews on Yelp or Google.

My job is to make sure everyone is communicating, and any problems or opinions are addressed at the morning meetings. Sound stressful?

You have no idea. Unless you run a hotel. If that’s the case, we should be friends.

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