In a hurry, I booked the room without reading the fine print. It was not a cheap hotel. And in the photos it looked normal. Nice even. It was about spending a night there, for a work trip. Hours before arriving, I received a friendly WhatsApp message giving me the link to a secure payment gateway, to check-in in advance (I visualized the safe and elegant payment process). What seemed like an attentive hotel employee (now I doubt everything) also sent me a couple of restaurant recommendations. And some codes. Here I began to suspect.
Indeed, when I arrived at the hotel, late at night, I found that there was nothing like a reception, let alone a receptionist. I greeted myself, dialing numbers that diligently opened doors. The room awaited me in silence, prepared with flowery cards that welcomed me with excessive insistence on the walls, the pillows or the soap. A decorative effort to disguise the void was noticeable. Even on the roll of toilet paper a sign welcomed you to wipe your ass, in an attempt to humanize a soulless space. The absence of reception fluttered around the room like a chicken without feathers.
In bed, the fuzzy faces of countless hotel receptionists came to mind. I remembered scenes and bits of conversations with receptionists who were nice or somber but almost always willing to bring a morning blanket and even help with a friend who was too drunk in the perils of youth. In my dreams, the idea that my company, which is constantly modernizing, will end up sending me on a trip without me, to this hotel without a receptionist, made its way. I felt sorry for this room, completely dry, chewing bricks of loneliness.
The sheets stuck to me and I woke up in the middle of the morning. I was upset that I couldn’t call reception and ask permission from a receptionist to delay my departure time by a few minutes, as so often. I took a quick shower, afraid that at eleven o’clock the room was scheduled to evaporate, or collapse with me inside. I imagined an explosion brushing my teeth. When I heard a knock on the door, and saw a small woman appear, with a cleaning cart, hair, nose and eyes, I almost burst into tears.
