I was just trying to get my keys and wallet together so I could head out for the evening. I was standing by the little gift shop counter inside the hotel lobby, fumbling through my bag. The hotel was pretty fancy, and I’d splurged on a room for a couple of nights to get some work done without distractions. I’d just finished up a long afternoon of writing and was looking forward to a quiet dinner.
Suddenly, a woman appeared right next to me, practically breathing down my neck. I’m not a small person, but she was tiny and seemed to vibrate with impatience. She cleared her throat, a loud, grating sound that made me jump. I turned to look at her. She had this really intense stare, like she was trying to bore holes through me with her eyes.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice sharp and a little too loud for the quiet lobby. “I’m looking for that specialty coffee blend. The one with the cinnamon notes. Do you know where it is?”
I blinked. “I… I’m sorry?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. There wasn’t any coffee behind the counter, just little trinkets and souvenir keychains. My head started to feel a bit fuzzy, like when you’re trying to remember something important and it just won’t come.
“The coffee,” she repeated, tapping her foot. “The cinnamon one. It’s supposed to be right here in the gift shop. Are you new? Because I’ve bought it here before.” Her tone was dripping with condescension, like I was a child who had just failed a simple test. I felt a prickle of annoyance start to build under my skin. My jaw tightened.
“I don’t think they sell coffee here,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I gestured vaguely at the shelves filled with miniature Eiffel Towers and keychains shaped like little hotel rooms. “This is just a gift shop.”
She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, they sell coffee. I just told you I bought it here before. Are you even listening to me? I need that coffee. I have a meeting in an hour and I can’t go without my pre-meeting pick-me-up.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, but it was still loud enough to carry. “It’s right behind the counter, isn’t it? Just a little out of sight. I’ve seen you people do that before. Hiding the good stuff.”
I felt my blood pressure start to climb. My hands balled into fists at my sides. “Look, ma’am,” I said, enunciating each word very carefully. “I don’t work here. I’m a guest, just like you.” I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but I don’t think it came across that way. My facial muscles felt stiff.
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, really? You’re standing behind the counter, wearing a hotel uniform, and you expect me to believe you don’t work here? That’s the oldest trick in the book. Trying to get out of doing your job. I’m not falling for it.” She crossed her arms, her tiny body radiating indignation.
I glanced down at my clothes. I was wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans. Not exactly a hotel uniform. I hadn’t even noticed the color of my shirt until that moment. “This,” I said, holding up my t-shirt, “is not a uniform. I’m just a guest.” I felt a surge of pure frustration. Why was this so hard for her to understand?
“Don’t play games with me,” she snapped. “I want my coffee. And I want it now. If you can’t get it for me, I want to speak to your manager. This is unacceptable customer service. I’m going to report you.”
The threat hung in the air. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. My temples started to throb. “Okay,” I said, my voice still tight. “Let me see if I can find someone who does work here.” I turned and scanned the lobby, my eyes landing on a young man in a crisp hotel polo shirt who was tidying up some magazines near the entrance. “Excuse me,” I called out, my voice a little louder than I intended. “Could you help this lady?”
The woman spun around, her eyes blazing. “You!” she shrieked, pointing a finger at me. “You can’t just pass me off to someone else! You’re the one who’s supposed to help me! You’re supposed to be an employee! I demand you get me that coffee!” Her face was starting to turn red.
The hotel employee walked over, a polite smile on his face. “Is there a problem, ma’am?” he asked.
“Yes, there is a problem!” she declared. “This… this person,” she gestured at me, “is refusing to help me find a product. They claim they don’t work here, but they were standing behind the counter in a uniform! And now they’re trying to pawn me off on you! I want to file a formal complaint. I want this person fired!”
The hotel employee looked at me, then back at her. He seemed confused. “Ma’am, I assure you, that person does not work for us. They are a guest in the hotel.”
“Lies!” she screamed. Her voice cracked. “You’re all in on it! Trying to cover for her! I pay good money to stay here, and this is the kind of treatment I get? I demand satisfaction! Get me my coffee, or I’m calling the police!”
My hands were shaking by this point. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. The employee, bless his heart, tried to reason with her, but she was past reasoning. She was completely unhinged. He calmly explained that there was no coffee for sale in the gift shop and that he could show her where the hotel cafe was, but she just kept yelling about how I was incompetent and needed to be fired. It went on for what felt like an eternity, with her getting louder and louder. Finally, the hotel employee spoke into his radio.
A few minutes later, two security guards walked into the lobby. The woman, seeing them, went completely silent for a moment before erupting again, telling them how I had tried to scam her. The guards listened patiently, then spoke to her in low voices. She continued to rant and rave, but they were firm. They eventually escorted her, still muttering threats and complaints about my supposed incompetence, out of the lobby and toward the exit. I just stood there, my heart pounding, feeling completely drained.
