Special Guests

Verbatim from the notes to the reservation for a group of meatheads staying on the 11th floor, written by a mystery clerk:

"There are 3 to 4 guys in this room that tried to have 3 prostitutes up to the room. I stopped one prostitute and she announced that her friend was already in the room. Both were asked to leave by writer and they did.

"Later another prostitute arrived for the same room and another guy (who I hadn't seen) came down to the desk and was somewhat belligerent. I sent her away. Later he left the hotel and returned with what was the most unattractive of all the pros of the night and I refused entry to her as well."

I spent about twenty minutes trying to figure out who had written this, which sadly is the most sustained literary analysis I've undertaken since college. I didn't think it was the White Witch or Girl With the Name That Sounds Like a Columbia Dorm because their grasp of English grammar isn't that solid. The prose fits K's (Meet the Idiots feature to come) terse, straightforward manner of speaking, but there's a moralistic streak that's out of place; all K cares about is gettin' paid. And Joey, God bless his little soul, would probably either wring his hands and mutter "Meshuganah" to no one in particular, or just employ his prostitute expertise to take care of the situation instead of impotently writing about it, even though every one of the jocks on the 11th floor could probably play basketball with Joey.

(Soooooo much more to come about Joey at some point, all amazing stuff that you couldn't really make up of course. Joey is pretty much the only other person besides the Porter who knows that this blog exists, so he is a small threat, even though he apparently doesn't actually know how to use the Internet {tutorial given by Porter: click "Firefox"--good job, Porter}. But you're not a snitch, are you Joey?)

Yusuf has had to go deliver a cot to the room in question. When he gets back, I ask him if he knows anything about this situation. He grumbles and shakes his head in disgust. "The man last night. He not gonna let the customers enjoy deir girls."

"You mean John Hernandez?" I ask.

"Yes," Yusuf nods, "They invite their friends over and he say, 'No fuckin' way, you canna come here at 2 in the morning,'

"Well, were there friends hookers?" I asked. I don't think he'd ever heard that term. "Prostitutes?"

"Psssh, no!" Yusuf said dismissively, "they just guys callin' they friends. They pay for they room, why we care who they take up there. Those guys was pissed! All they want they girls and John gotta be a asshole! This is not how treat the customer!"

Now here's where it gets good. "This all they want, " Yusuf says. He then extends his hands out as if to grip on to something firm and smooth, thrusts his hips rapidly back and forth and cries, "Guba guba guba guba guba guba guba!"

I ask him to do that again and he obliges.