I hated this job.
Every morning I woke up before the sun, dragged myself into the same faded uniform, and walked into that hotel like I already owed it something. The corridors always smelled of bleach and other people’s sweat. My back hurt before I even started. Guests left wet towels on the floor, food on the sheets, and dirty glasses on every surface. I cleaned it all without complaint because complaining never changed a thing and it was basically my job.
That day was worse than usual. Two check-outs on the fourth floor had left the rooms looking like a storm passed through. One man had thrown up in the bathroom. Another left used condoms under the bed. I scrubbed until my fingers burned. By evening my legs felt heavy and my head was pounding.
I was still on shift when the night man
