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Almost every month, at the exact same time, a group of men check into your hotel. The last weekend of the month is consistently booked because each of these people, who all dress in the same ugly outfits that are clearly intended to be disguises for whatever weirdness they have going on, and you always have the pleasure of meeting them and checking them in. The moment you spotted the pattern at your checkin desk, you made sure to be there each month just in case that was the day that their little meeting would go haywire.
This month, the yellow-haired one was the first to check in.
“Sup, babes,” he said smoothly as he leaned his arm against the counter, palm pressed firmly to his jaw. “I’m here again. Do me a favor and use those pretty little hands of yours to check me in.”
With a forced smile, you obliged. “What name are you under this time?” You asked, trying not to acknowledge his advances.
“Mine’s under John,” he said as he slid over an ID that was clearly fake. The name ‘JOHN LENNON’ was written next to a picture of the man before you, except it was clearly not taken in a DMV. You could only imagine what terrible place of service would accept such an obviously fake ID.
On your computer, you checked off the box that validated an ID. You slid it back to him. “Thank you, Mr. Lennon, your room is number 209.” While you waited for the key to encode on the flimsy plastic, you wrote down the wifi password on the card. After pulling the key from the machine and slipping it in the paper holder, you handed it to the man in front of you. With a smile, he went on his merry way.
The next to check in was a man with pitch black hair that was so long it made you jealous. He was with a much taller (and bluer) man who had the most piercing eyes, you felt his stare the entire time you were checking your guests in.
“Good evening,” you said, “checking in?”
“Yes, please,” the dark-haired man said with a smile. “The name is under Paul McCartney.” An ID was handed to you by the blue man and, after seeing the atrocity of the fake ID, you checked off the validity marker on your screen.
“I know you guys come here every month,” you said as you wrote down the password, “but I wish you’d just use the same names so it’d be easier to check in for me.”
“My apologies, but we can’t do that.” Mr. McCartney said, his voice more serious than before. “It would be an extreme liability for us.”
There was hardly ever a honest man at your hotel. Really, the only reason people stopped there was to either shoot up in the parking lot or meet a hooker. Some people cheated on their partners, others paid an awfully large sum of money to do it with someones partner. What people did after you handed them the key was no business of yours, but you were well aware of what the hotel on the corner was known for. There was a reason why you had a supply of cleaning utensils bigger than your breakfast buffet silverware - the people that checked in here weren’t looking for a 6:30 A.M. complimentary breakfast. They were looking to trash their rooms, ruin some bedsheets, and steal the soap from the maid carts. Not that you cared.
You looked at the two men standing in front of you. The shorter one was wearing a cloak that covered the majority of his body, but you could see fishnets on his chest. Instantly, you knew what they were doing here.
“I get it,” you shrugged, “clients like their stuff personal. I can’t imagine trusting someone with the knowledge of my sex life, either…” you trailed off as the key finished and you shoved it inside the card holder. When you looked back at the two men, they appeared substantially redder than before. Perhaps you got it wrong.
“Unless you aren’t here for, uh, sex?” you said, a blush creeping to your cheeks as you held up the key. “I mean, if you are that’s cool, but if not that’s also cool-”
“Thank you for your assistance as always, we’ll be going now.” The blue man snatched the paper from you and, as they walked away, you heard his laughter grow louder.
The next month, the group of boys checked in with the same names as previous.