Context is Everything

About a hotel doorman who hears different bits of conversation out of context during his shift.

He reached for the door handle to the hotel, only to be beaten to it by the doorman, a lanky guy with mussed brown hair, wide green eyes, and a shy grin. His uniform was comprised of blue slacks, a blue button-down shirt with gold buttons, and scuffed black shoes. “Simon” was printed on his brass nametag. He jerked the door open for the man, who sauntered through without as much as a “Thank you.”

Simon’s eyes followed him warily, even though he suspected the man of nothing except being impolite. He’s accused numerous people of that crime, but never to their faces.

The man waited impatiently in front of the elevator, tapping his expensive shoes against the freshly washed linoleum, his cell phone glued to his ear. Suddenly, his voice broke the cold silence of the hotel, startling Simon a little.

“It’s about time you picked up!” the man snapped, his face quickly reddening with anger. “Do you realize that my bag got lost at the airport? I have no clothes or anything!” He paused. “Well, of course I know the hotel gives you all that complimentary stuff, Alec!” The man’s conversation was cut off as he stepped into the elevator and jabbed at a button. The doors closed heavily, and Simon was left alone again.

After a few minutes, a pair of little kids not more than seven, a boy and a girl, skittered through the lobby, undersized white towels knotted around their waists, their hair and bathing suits damp and dripping. They caught Simon looking at them and froze, as if they were in trouble. Simon grinned at them a little, and they smiled hesitantly. Their mother came tromping after them a few seconds later, ushering them into the elevator. Before the doors closed once again, the little girl waved at Simon, who had just enough time to wave back.

About twenty minutes passed before another cluster of guests entered the hotel for the first time, dragging their suitcases on wheels behind them. This most recent group consisted of a man and a woman, both seemingly in their mid-forties, and two girls. The girls were friends, not sisters, Simon decided, because they didn’t look at all the same.

While one girl’s parents checked them in, the two of them walked over to the elevator, chatting casually about things inaudible to Simon. Suddenly, the doors opened, and one girl’s voice rose considerably.

“Well, I mean, if I had a baby, I wouldn’t bring it into school and keep it in a locker, I can tell you that much!”

Simon stared at the spot where they were long after they had boarded the elevator, a bit stunned. The parents gazed uncertainly at him, and he quickly averted his eyes from where they were standing.

---

After a quick lunch of some cold pizza from last night that he and his roommate failed to finish, Simon retreated back to his post. He opened the door for a few families or single groups of people, and was especially appreciative of a little boy who gave him a small marble as a token of thanks. That probably wasn’t the real reason why the boy bestowed it upon him, but Simon liked to think so.

Sometimes, when the hotel was especially dull and lifeless, Simon wondered if he should start keeping a little notebook in his pocket, to write down all the strange things he hears on a daily basis. He could write a book and maybe even get it published. Now that's an idea.

At about four o'clock, a boy and a girl walked into the hotel, hands clasped together, the girl's head resting on the boy's shoulder. The girl smiled at him when he opened the door for them. Simon didn't even have to guess at this one. They didn't look old enough to be engaged or married, so he wasn't surprised when a man and a woman came sauntering in after them, a little boy in tow.

"Y'know," the boy said, running his fingers absentmindedly through the girl's hair, "my English teacher, she looks like Tom Joad."

The girl stared at him for a few seconds, and then burst out into a fit of giggles. "Are you serious?" she asked.

The boy laughs. "Yeah," he answered, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I'll show you a picture of her sometime. Even she said she looks like him." The elevator doors opened, and the two entered it like so many others did, the doors closing behind them.

Simon closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to picture the old, worn face of Tom Joad on the body of a woman. It looked disturbing, so he stopped before he had a chance to make his mental picture even more detailed.

Two teenage boys strode through the lobby next, their flip flops making weird sucking noises as they pattered against the floor. Simon had heard the noise flip flops make before, but he could never figure out which word he could use to describe it best. He got a fresh chance to listen as the boys walked through, but what they were talking about attracted his interest even more than the noises their shoes were making.

One boy, taller than the other, with messy brown hair and big green eyes, kicked the floor absentmindedly, listening to his friend, who had dark blonde hair and bright blue eyes, talk.

"I mean, seriously, Jake!" the green-eyed one insisted. "If Jack Bauer's a loser, there's no such thing as a winner, all right? It's just not possible, man!"

Jake shook his head and muttered, "Whatever, Mitch. 24 is gonna die any day now, and Jack Bauer's gonna go with it."

"Yeah?" Mitch asked. "Well, I don't see your precious Arrested Development on anymore, now do I?"

Simon couldn't hear Jake's response because the elevator doors cut him off from the conversation, but Jake looked pretty upset. Simon wouldn't have been surprised if they had gotten into a fight while on their way to their floor.

---

Five thirty. Only a half hour left until Simon could go home, kick back, and watch his daily hour and a half of Seinfeld. His door-opening skills went slack a little as the day passed, but now that his shift was nearly finished, a new energy came into him and made him more eager than ever to open a door for someone.

The last half hour seemed to take a millennium to go by, as it usually does, and he didn't open any more doors until five fifty-five, when two women in their mid-forties, he guessed, sauntered out of the elevator. For a change of pace, he heard a conversation from people going out instead of coming in.

"Basically," the brunette woman began, "if I was a man, I'd be really, really hairy."

Simon stared after them as they walked out the door toward their cars, wondering what they were talking about that would lead to that statement, and then wondering if he even wanted to know.

The night shift worker, a nineteen-year-old kid named Ezra, scampered quickly into the lobby, afraid he was late. He skidded to a stop, realizing he wasn't, and grinned awkwardly at Simon.

"Hey, Simon," he greeted. "Did you hear those two ladies out there talkin' 'bout how hairy they'd be if they were guys?"

Simon laughed. "They were still talking about it out there?"

Ezra nodded. "Weird, huh?"

"Very. Well, I guess I'll let you take over. See ya, Ezra." Simon waved and went to the break room behind the check-in desk to get his jacket. Ezra held the door open for him on his way out, and he thanked him.

As Simon pulled out of the parking lot, mulling over what had gone on during the workday, he turned on the car stereo and slipped in the latest Red Hot Chili Peppers CD. He drove along a bit absentmindedly, flicked on his turn signal, and pulled into a CVS.

He had just enough money in his jacket pocket to buy a notebook.

Author's Note

Was it realistic/was there anything I could do to make it better? :)