15 November 2015
River Falls, Wisconsin
12:47 AM
The squeak and rumble of the laundry trolly followed me down the long hallway that led to the lobby. The voice of a young girl negotiating with a drug boss was coming from my headphones. As I approached, my eyes caught on a figure curled up along some chairs in the breakfast area. I wasn't sure if I had been so absorbed in my book that I hadn't noticed him lying there, or if he had materialised while I had been procuring a fresh load of towels.
Pulling the headphones from my mobile and silencing my audiobook, I approached him cautiously as if he were a deer I might spook. He wore a flannel fitted shirt, skinny jeans, and a knitted hat. He was passed out, drunk.
"Sir," I said, my voice hesitant and quiet, my hand on his shoulder.
No response.
I tried again, this time a bit louder and giving his shoulder a small shake. I was rewarded with a noncommittal grunt, matted with the thick syrup of sleep and alcohol.
"Sir, you have to get up."
"Uh-huh"
"Do you have a room here?"
"Uh-huh"
"Then you need to go to it."
"Uh-huh"
"You can't stay here."
"Uh-huh"
"You really need to get up."
"Uh-huh"
"Which you're not doing."
"Uh-huh"
Damn it, I totally walked into that one. This clearly wasn't working. I contemplated leaving him there as a frustrated rush of air left my lungs. I strode to the other side of the table he was using as a pillow. Poor guy, he'd have one hell of a crick in his neck if I didn't get him up. Pursing my lips and channeling my sophomore biology teacher, I held my arms out and slammed my palms together as loudly as I could. The clap was impressive and my palms stung with the impact all the way up to my wrists.
Unfortunately, as it would turn out, copious amounts of alcohol induces a much heavier sleep than a lecture on domain Eukarya. My efforts were not graced with the only word in his vocabulary. The asshole didn't even grunt in acknowledgment.
It was time to reverse tactics. I began talking and cajoling this grown man as if he were a very small child, until finally a blue eye locked onto mine from beneath his knitted cap, awake but, elsewhere.
"Sir, I'm sorry but you can't sleep here."
"Oh, sorry," he slurred through the haze in his head. A small part of me was dumbstruck by this stunning addition to his already extensive vocabulary and verbose oratory skills.
"Oh, sorry," he slurred through the haze in his head. A small part of me was dumbstruck by this stunning addition to his already extensive vocabulary and verbose oratory skills.
I watched as he pushed against his table on limbs made of jell-o struggling with the here-to unknown force of gravity. Noting his difficulty, I lunged forward, grabbing his elbow before he crashed back down to earth. My eyes locked onto a patch of dried blood in the fabric of his shirt. I let go as if he were a hot iron. In the split second that I contemplated asking him if he was alright, he collapsed onto an adjacent table. This time, I let him regain his balance on his own terms while I hover like a protective parent watching an infant take their first steps.
Relief washes over me as he stabilizes and chaotically stumbles towards the door, a fawn testing out unsure legs in a strange new world. I offered to call him a cab, but he doesn't respond as he made his way to the door, an erratic pinball.
Just another day at the office...
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