Dimension: Current
Language: Akashian
Comment: ‘You have a new assistant. Please greet them in the Foyer.’
Hotel: Trivago
Another assistant?
Holding the card, I remember holding the one before. The assistant named T.W., who’d spent most of their time exploring the premises. As they weren’t a member of the Family (and still, no one tells me where they came from, not even which dimension), and an assistant no less, they couldn’t even access many of the levels. On their first day, I’d explained that. I’d also explained that to access anywhere in Trivago you had to walk manually. This was our dimension, after all. Of course I lost them on day two, and had to spend a month searching for them, as if I didn’t already have new guests coming in every day. Even today. I turn the card over and today’s guest list is there, in the same font.
Today’s Guest List (arriving)
AMYGDALA
SABER
DICE
PLANKTON ⟡
—There were more names, but upon seeing the ⟡ - a first-time guest - and I always find it structurally discomfiting to give the Tour of Trivago to the first-time guests - I turn the card back over. I’ll give Plankton to the assistant. OK, that’s all to it with the Card.
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I suppose I’ll go now and meet with them. The Family just keeps giving me new ones, as if by making it trenchantly difficult for assistants to continue I have not clearly communicated that the Hotel only needs one Hotelier, and has functioned as well as it has notwithstanding the multitudes of assistants thrown at me. I keep saying I don’t want another; I only get another in response.
As long as Marriott doesn’t stop by.
I heave my legs off the luxurious front desk. It is such a good desk, and yet I lean back in my Hotelier’s Chair and toss my legs up. OK. It is now time to contact my new assistant. Card in hand, I glance at the doors to the lobby. Or rather, this one. Not the main, central Foyer of the entire Hotel. Which Floor was I on again? Do I even care? How many floors did I have to walk, take stairs, to get decently distant from any of the Family who might come. After all—well, besides Wyndham, who knows the other entrances—even members of the Family have to come in through the front doors. And everyone, including dear Wyndham, must walk to access the Floors. Well, everyone of this dimension.
No guests are coming in through the doors. It’s still early; early enough that I can still hear the snores of the Lorax through his room with its still very sad, rather small and drab painting on the door of a far-off land in muted colors depicting some particularly unattractive trees wearing the most hideous of wigs. Every time I think of moving up more Floors, I think of the trees.
But I’m awake. I’m awake at this terribly early morning hour. Chief Hotelier of the Hotel Trivago. It’s time for that morning herald call, but not too loud. Can’t wake up the other guests.
“RAFFLESIA!!!” I yell.
The door next to Lorax’s opens immediately. They’re so prompt, Raffle. I’ll give them that.
“Good morning, Ms. Hilton!” they crow, sporting in one hand what is probably a clean towel, and in the other a raider racket. “Sleep and good dreams?” they ask.
“Dreaming on,” I reply. Dreaming of an empty hotel. “I have a new assistant, Rafflesia. Here.” I beckon forth, and hold out the card.
Raffle takes a look. Their thin eyebrows furl in concentration. Oh, they aren’t wearing their glasses. Did Rafflesia sleep with a racket in their arms?
“Greet them in the Foyer, Ms. Hilton.”
“I know.” Again, we have to walk. “Rafflesia, get into the Trivago colors. I’ll be waiting in the Comedy of Manners.”
“That’s just the Floor below, Ms. Hilton.”
“That’s right. See you then.” I nod to them, and Rafflesia, a bounce in their step, returns to the confines of their room. I catch a glimpse of a hayward stack of rackets from different sports on top of their bed. What a sight to catch in the morning.
Oh, on to the Comedy. Sometimes, I hear rumor of the romances down below.