Judge Your Judgment

Another story where a man plans to fly through life at someone else expense. Not even considering the thought that some day life would come back and bite him in the butt.

Judge Your Judgement

A Story by Linda Wells

A story about one of my many lovely nights at work. It is a true story and the names have been omitted to protect the guilty.

The night was so peaceful and perfect, just as I hoped it would be. The television was muted to stop the invasion of noise it produced. The overhead sound system played Delilah’s love songs in the background. The sweet, mild fragrance of lilacs from the aromatic candles, bought especially for a night such as this, wafted through the place. It was job therapy on site and yes, I do love my job.

 

The motel I worked at for over seven years now, like many others, was not exempt from its fair share of shady characters and more than questionable patrons. As the night auditor/bookkeeper/front desk clerk/MOD/maintenance/housekeeper/groundskeeper/caterer/babysitter…etc, I have the privilege of meeting people for the first time usually not at their best; tonight would prove that statement true, even more than ever on this particular night.

 

Author's Note

As I said above, this story is about one of my lovely nights at work. I am not sure if I overstated it or understated it. The writing is weak, and I seem to have more issues with ending stories. I would appreciate any and all suggestions.

Most travelers like the warmth of a bed by midnight. The ones who don’t, push that extra mile so that when morning breaks they feel better about themselves. Why? I do not know. When they do stop they are ready for a bed and ready an hour ago. They are past exhaustion, extremely grumpy and belligerent.

 

I handed the electronic key card over to a weary couple with bloodshot eyes, oblivious to our many exciting amenities I was spilling out at them. The wife rudely grabbed the key card and made haste for the door as if heaven was on the other side and her heaven would be horizontal on a bed, instead of vertical one, standing and speaking to me. They left me standing with my mouth open and holding an empty finger in the air.

 

As they exited the lobby, a heavy-set man with a smile stretching from ear to ear tried to enter the lobby through the glass door clearly labeled “please use other door.” He regained his footing and composure from the bounce the locked door created, and entered successfully only to stumble over his feet, losing his white Stetson hat, and dropping the black notebook he carried. As he fought the forces of gravity, his attempt to keep from landing face down on the floor was also successful. Finally, red faced, breathing erratically, with a vein in his forehead throbbing, looking as if he had just completed an obstacle course. He reached the front desk and asked for a king suite. Still wearing his award-winning smile, he threw the black notebook on the counter. I immediately recognized it to be a desktop style checkbook. The hair on my neck raised up some.

 

I couldn't help but notice his baby blue eyes surrounded among the thickest black eyelashes; they were the bluest eyes I had ever seen in a man. His smile was contagious and he wore it well. The smell emanating from him crept its way across the counter and was not that of cologne, but liquor; he reeked. I took a giant step backwards as if Simon said I could.

 

“Sir, we do not accept checks here.” I said politely.

 

“Of course you do, everyone does. May I borrow a pen?” was his response.

 

“Sorry, not here. I can do credit, debit and cash only. There is an ATM in the store next door. If you would like to get some cash, I'll hold a room till you return."

 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, leaning against the front desk looking straight into my eyes confident that I would know him, but I did not. His eyes brimmed slightly with moisture and he seemed offended that I did not recognize him. My reply of “Daddy War Bucks,” Did not help matters. He asked the same question a second time with more emphasis on the “Do you know who I am?”

By now, I could really feel the hair on my neck. It felt as if the hair on my neck were trying to escape. I placed my right hand across the nape of my neck in hopes of stopping the impending runaway.

 

“No, I do not know you. Even if you were Donald Trump’s apprentice I would not take your check.” I could have taken it and probably should have, but I didn't. The dude pissed me off.

 

Together, we went well beyond the normal registration routine, my sweet smelling candle's flame, which was smooth earlier, now flickered violently from the hot air pushed back and forth across the counter resulting from our growing heated disagreement pertaining to my "currently revised" new company policy. I walked a few steps to where it was struggling and put it out of its misery. My night’s plan now destroyed beyond salvage; I had let “Mr. Important" rile me.

 

I was rescued from ‘Mr. Do You Know Who I Am?’ by another couple seeking a room for the night. I asked ‘Mr. Rich and Famous’ to have a seat for a moment. We could continue the discussion over his fame and fortune later. My lack of knowledge about current events written in the popular magazine, Forbes and Fortune 500, had also been brought to my attention. Right now I have paying customers to tend to.

 

I passed the keys to the couple with a map of the facilities all the while pitching the amenities. They were a lot more receptive than ‘Daddy War Bucks.’ When the couple cleared the door and I was sure they could not hear me I said rather loudly, “Hey mister you’re next…again!”

 

He did not move, nor did he acknowledge my invitation to finish what we had started. I walked into the lobby to confirm my suspicions and sure enough he was out cold. I often speculate about people like him. Did he over celebrate? Did he blow off too much steam? Did he go out one too many times with the boys? Did he step out, or was he thrown out? Did he go home to locked doors? Does he have a home? No one ever really knows. What brings a person to the point where they wander around aimlessly, taking refuge on a lobby love seat among total strangers in a four star hotel.

 

My first instinct was to wake him up and ask him to leave, but the more I looked at him, the more my heart told me to let him be. It would be hours before other employees arrived for work. That would give ‘Mr. Trump's Apprentice’ time to sober some, get served up some hot black coffee, then be sent on his merry way.

 

“Mr. Do you know who I am“, did not move nor did he breathe out one snore for the full three hours. If it were not for the heaving of his chest, I would have thought him dead. Then the dreaded moment arrived; time to wake him. Not knowing how this stranger from the night would react to being woken in a strange place, I stood a good ten feet away as I started my cries of “hey!” They grew somewhat louder as I realized he was not going to be an easy wake from his slumber.

 

I started throwing paper clips at him, which was a useless cause. I then graduated to ink pens. After a few tosses with increased momentum he moved, which was a good thing because the industrial broom was next on my list.

With every move he made, I kept saying, “Hey! Wake up you have to go. Hey, wake up.” I said a little louder as I tossed another pen at him. Finally his eyelids blinked showing sleepy eyes. It took a moment for them to focus and then as if he’d had a shot of electricity, he popped up like a jack in the box.

 

I explained in brief the events of the night and laughed; he did not. It took him a second cup of coffee before his humor improved. I offered breakfast, but he declined, not wanting to impose anymore than he already had. He thanked me and just as the mysterious man arrived, he also departed, bouncing off the same door, just going in a different direction.

 

Later that day he called asking if I would meet him for dinner and I accepted. Then about two hours after that he had a call telling him an emergency came up and he was called away to deal with it.

 

A few weeks passed when a call came one afternoon while I pulled a double shift, “Guess who? “Was how the conversation started.

 

”Is this ‘Mr. Do you know who I am?” For some unknown reason I sensed it to be him.

 

“See? I knew you would know who I was.” He chuckled as he said, “I am here to make that dinner good.”

 

“Hello, did you not notice I answered the phone, doing double duty tonight?” I was sorry because I would miss the companionship; he did seem to spark an interest; I just wasn't sure if it was a good interest.

 

“I also have to go now, can you call me later?” I watched someone pull into the lot and stop under the awning.

 

“No, I want to talk now.” He said.

 

“Call back later please, bye.” I said hanging up the phone as the customer came inside.

 

“How dare you. You hang up on me. Don’t you know who I am?”

 

It was him. We both laughed making our way together for a hug, as if we had known each other forever. After all, we had spent the night together, so to speak.

 

“I know of you anyway, how have you been doing? It’s been a few weeks.

 

“Sure has and I have thought about you a lot. So what about that dinner?” he asked.

 

“What dinner? Unless it is dinner in a box I don’t see it happening. There is a restaurant back there, but I am not firing up that grill. What can I say; I have to work for a living.” I said as I threw my hands up in surrender to my dedication as the faithful employee.

 

He went to Chilies to buy us baby-back ribs, which he brought back in a box and I served up in the bar area with a candle burning and music playing on the jukebox. I listened to the story of his rise to fame, which was about as exciting as a trip to the dentist. It had to do with buying and selling of hogs. He talked of the good money he made and after eating our meal he proudly showed me his new purchase of the day, a new Dodge Ram extended cab truck. "Paid with cash." he gloated.

 

He rented a room that night, already knowing I would not take his check, he placed the cash on the counter.

 

"I’ll need to see your driver’s license.”

 

“Why do you need my license?” he asked.

 

“It is a policy; no license…no room.”

 

He wore a look of rebellion, but decided against it. His luck might not hold for a second night on the love seat. We did our business and with a full stomach he went off to sleep. I set him a wake up call for 6 am the following morning.

 

At About 6:50 he came in rubbing sleep out of his eyes, wobbling for the coffee. I was busy and then my relief came. We did not get much chatime in and before I knew it I looked up and he was gone.

 

I never heard from him again after that. A few weeks later as I was doing my startup rituals at work, I was channel surfing the TV when I thought I heard his name mentioned in passing. I backed up but could not find the channel it might have come from.

 

The next morning when the daily newspapers were delivered I always go and read the headlines. There on the front page of the Gazette was the picture of my friend with the headline, ‘State turns up heat in case of hot checks-Louisiana citizen accused of fraud.’

 

They apprehended him with several stolen checkbooks and fake identifications. The article reported his eight-month crime spree ended with his arrest in a small motel in Mount Ida, Ark.. He had warrants in twenty-three counties and seven states. At the time of arrest he had several felony warrants of fraudulent check writing and theft by deception. It reported that he had befriended them with his charm, bought a few items with cash as he chatted about hog hunting and then went for the larger more expensive items for which he wrote checks. One item on the list of purchases was a Dodge Ram truck. Oh my…

 

According to the news article this is a common crime. They are restless souls on the run, most of the time only arrested by being stopped for minor traffic violations. They write a bunch of checks, then move on and write more elsewhere. Apparently on this night he should have parked his new Dodge truck in the back of the motel.

 

I should go visit him while he is still here in the local jail. I want to go visit him; yet I wonder if he will remember me…the one who did not fall prey to his charming smile and witty personality? I don’t think he will remember our night together nor will he ‘know who I Am.’ If I do go and see him, will I be able to get an answer to a question I have for him? My guess is that he will have no clue. My question to him would be…

 

“Do you know who you are?”© 2009 Linda Stinson

Author's Note

As I said above, this story is about one of my lovely nights at work. I am not sure if I overstated it or understated it. The writing is weak, and I seem to have more issues with ending stories. I would appreciate any and all suggestions.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I did enjoy this tale and the open ending. You are a amazing story teller dear Linda. You held my attention till the last words. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story.
Coyote

[Linda Stinson Wells]

You gave me a wonderful review. It brought a big smile to my face. It is very nice to have a new friend. Glad to have you.

[Coyote Poetry]

Glad to meet you too. I will read more later. Off to work soon dear Linda.

[Linda Stinson Wells]

Oh man, that was my favorite time to work was at night. I have a sleeping disorder and beings I can't sleep I went from being an account assistant to a CPA at a food distribution company to working 11 pm to 7 am as a night clerk at a hotel. Of course business is slow and it gave me time to start writing. Not only that I have a butt load of stories to tell from my experiences working there. Have a good night my new friend.

[Coyote Poetry]

Me too dear Linda. I do like working the nightshift.

[Jibey]

At least you handled the situation well and kept your cool, more or less. But why on earth did you even think of accepting a dinner date from s guy like that!

Ah well, it means there's hope for me!

[Linda Stinson Wells]

Another sleepless night. I see that I have copied my authors notes way out of line. This story is about a guy that could only see the future. He gives no regards to when his future backfires against him. He tried to pull a fast one on me but I am wise to the ways of the world.