Chapter 2
Jimmy
The angry woman in front of the desk glares up at me.
“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do?” she snarls, her face getting a brighter shade of red each time I repeat what she’s already been told.
“We do not have connected rooms at this location.” I calmly reply.
She huffs for the fifteenth time and tucks her hair behind her ears, preparing to also repeat herself. “When I booked, I specifically clicked combined rooms. So why would it give me that option if you didn’t offer them?”
Third-party booking sites. The worst part about this job.
“As Selena already shared with you, sometimes third-party sites mix up locations or specific amenities at locations, and I know that is frustrating, but we can’t do anything on our end.”
“It shouldn’t matter if it’s a third-party site. You have my reservation, correct?”
“Yes. We have you booked for two queen rooms for one night. There is a note that combined rooms are requested, but as we’ve said, we don’t have those here.”
Requested, meaning she didn’t ‘click’ anything.
“So, what am I supposed to do? Is there someone else I can talk to?”
“You’re more than welcome to stay here, ma’am. We do have two rooms on the same floor, but there is no one else to talk to. You’ve already spoken to Selena, the working manager here, and I am the regional manager who just happened to be visiting this location today.”
“Well. I’m going to let corporate know about this.”
I pride myself on my professionalism, but I still have to stifle a laugh.
It’s astonishing how many people don’t understand how these sites work.
Instead of calling and booking with our hotel directly, they go through a travel website, essentially having someone else do the work for them, then get mad at us when it’s not done right.
Had she called to book here, they would have told her we don’t have those rooms.
“That’s fine, ma’am, but may I suggest you contact the company that you booked through, so that you can let them know the error on their end?”
She stares at me for an uncomfortable minute. And after a few frustrated taps of her ID on the counter, she finally gives in. “Fine. Whatever. I’m already here. I’ll take the rooms on the same floor.”
Thank God, I can only imagine how much angrier she would’ve gotten had I told her she had to contact them for a full refund, too.
Once she is finally checked in, she rolls her eyes and grumbles something under her breath in response to me telling her to enjoy her stay. The group of people that comes in shortly after her with balloons, who head straight for the elevator, leads me to believe this is a party.
“Selena, the coast is clear.”
“Thank goodness.” She says as she rounds the corner. “I’m so glad you were here for that one. I am too tired for her today.”
She sits down in the chair and leans back to stretch. Her heavily pregnant stomach almost touches the desk.
“How much longer?” I ask as I grab my jacket.
“Any day, I hope. I’m thirty-six weeks tomorrow and have an appointment in the morning. We’ll see how that goes.”
“Just let me know. We’re ready when you are.”
She laughs. She’s already told me she plans to work up until the very end, but I have an inkling that she may be regretting that statement now.
“Anyways, I’m out for the day. Let Andy know when he gets here to keep an eye on those rooms, 210 and 221. I’m pretty sure that’s a party. I’ll have my phone on if he needs me.”
She writes the room numbers on a sticky note. “Will do, but I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
I nod in agreement. I’m sure he will be too. It’s one of the reasons I have him manage overnight, especially on weekends, because he doesn’t play.
“Take care of yourself, Selena,” I say before heading out the door.
Third-party booking sites may be the worst part, but the best part of this job?
My office being at home, and the freedom to choose how often I’m on site.
It’s different all the time, but between six locations, it’s easy to inconspicuously spread my time.
Unless I have a meeting, no one is typically looking for me.
It also gives me the freedom to fit in random time to do the one thing I enjoy doing, going to the gym. I think about doing that now, but we do have some renovations coming to one of our locations soon, so I decide to head home to check on how things are progressing with those plans instead.
As I pull into the driveway, I notice Becca isn’t here yet, but the landscapers are.
I share a friendly wave even though I wish we didn’t have them.
They’re not expensive, but it feels so silly.
I could do this myself, but she insisted on hiring people, so it always looked perfect, and we never had to worry about it.
Do I care about the yard looking pristine? No. But she does.
I’ve never understood my wife’s need for Keeping up with the Joneses, when we don’t even know any Joneses to keep up with. I didn’t see a need to buy this house, as our last one was perfectly fine for the two of us, but she insisted it was time for something “nicer.”
So, we acquired a higher mortgage payment (And a landscaping bill) to go from a three-bedroom one-bath ranch to a four-bedroom two-and-a-half-bath cape-cod-style house with a basement.
I do like that we have a master bath in our room, even though that’s not even necessary because we rarely have guests to use the other two.
Don’t get me wrong, it is a nice place, but it’s definitely her house. If it makes her happy, it makes me happy, so nine times out of ten, I just let her do things her particular way.
As soon as I’m in the door, Rex, our border collie, greets me with wiggles through his whole body, eager to get outside. We pass through the kitchen to the sliding doors, and once it’s open, he takes off like lightning. He’ll stay out there running laps for at least thirty minutes.
As I take my jacket off and loosen my tie, I notice a note on the counter.
Your mom has an appointment today. Be home around 6. Might stop at the store too. Dinner is in the fridge, ready for the oven if you’re hungry before I get home. 350 for 50 minutes. Xoxo
Becca leaves notes like this relatively often, and it always makes me laugh because she could very well just send me a text message. But the context of this short note is the perfect example of why I do what I can to let her live the life she wants us to live.
It felt like the world stopped when my mom got her cancer diagnosis. My dad passed away from an unexpected heart attack when I was eighteen, and my only brother had just made a big move hours away, so any help my mom would need fell to us.
With my schedule being flexible, I knew I could make it work, but Becca jumped at the opportunity to help my mom out.
She takes her to almost every appointment, treatment, scan, and has even stayed with her for a while on days the treatments leave her feeling sick.
All while also working. And still, she makes sure I have something to eat.
She may have her own specific and sometimes (in my opinion) pretentious way of doing things, but she helps when she can.
Besides avoiding unnecessary arguments, it’s the least I can do to just let her keep up with the hypothetical Joneses.