The night proceeded on.

I was doing night shift at the front desk reception, along with several other few. Most of the tourists had already checked into their respective hotel rooms, and there was little to do for the moment. A voice, quivering, suddenly spoke,

“Can I borrow your phone?”,

in broken English. I looked up, stunned for a moment, to look into the eyes of a young girl. Poorly dressed, with her make-up ruined by her flow of tears, she could not have disturbed at a more unappropriate timing when I had wanted to take a break, and most of all, to be speaking to me instead of the others on duty. I will finish her off in seconds, I thought, as I responded with a:

“Sorry, we don’t allow that here in the hotel for non-guests to use our hotel facilities in any way. Please leave if you’re not reserving a room with us.”

After several pleads from the crying lady, I contacted the securities, and watched in satisfaction as they hurried her off into the night. With a sigh of relief, I reached out for my glass of drink.



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