Checking In

Disclaimer: 

While this story gets its inspiration from recent news events, this story and all the situations, people, dialogue, places, etc are fictional. It is not meant to portray real events and the author has no more knowledge than the average person checking BBC News or CNN. 

This story was written quickly, from a somewhat unhinged idea, and the author did not deeply research neighborhoods in New York City or pretty much anything else contained herein (other than a very surface level Googling). My apologies in advance for any unintended inaccuracies or misrepresentations.

“And when I came back from the bathroom, he had Tinder open and was actively. Swiping.” Bridget spaced out the last two words for dramatic effect.

“I mean, I can’t say I haven’t done the same on a dud date,” I responded to her, not even looking away from the computer screen or pausing in my fast-paced typing. Then I realized what I’d actually said and paused to look at Bridget apologetically. “Not that you were a dud date. He was clearly the dud in this situation.” 

“Appreciate that after thought, Soph,” Bridget smirked. “That’s not the worst. He made a random, shitty excuse to leave and then asked if I knew which train line would take him to Williamsburg. When he’d already said that his apartment was in Hell’s Kitchen. So he was clearly heading to another date.”

We paused our conversation as a guest walked up to the desk. “Hi, I was told to ask about the walking tour,” a shy young man with a thick Nordic accent asked after Bridget greeted him. 

“We have a few, actually…” Bridget turned around to grab one of the fliers we kept behind the desk. Or… that we were supposed to keep behind the desk. “Oh, crap, George must have handed out the last one and not bothered to print out more. I’ll be one sec.” She gave the kid a smile and dashed into the back office. 

“What are you hoping to see?” I asked while he was waiting. As the hostel’s Guest Services Director, planning all the events and tours and other fun bonuses for our guests is part of my job, so I knew the schedules like the back of my hand. 

He shuffled nervously. I’d guess that he was one of our younger guests… probably 17 or 18 and only just out of high school or secondary school or whatever his country called it. But we’d also had some guests with baby faces like his that had turned out to be almost 30 like me, so what did I know?

“Um… I heard there was one that went to Trinity Church?” 

Ah… must be a theatre kid. We’d specifically expanded our lower Manhattan walking tour to include that as a stop because so many Hamilton fans had requested directions to the church yard to see the graves of founding father Alexander Hamilton, his wife Eliza, and her sister Angelica. I stopped myself from humming the line from the show under my breath. 

“Yes, the Lower Manhattan tour,” I pulled out a slip of paper to write down the info on. “We do that one midday Wednesdays.” I jotted down the time and some quick subway directions (a straight shot on the 1 to the South Ferry stop). “That’s one of my favorites. The train takes about half an hour, so I’d make sure to leave about 45 minutes to get there just to play it safe. Look for the person with the bright green shirt and the sign that says ‘Tour it up!’” 

As I handed him the slip of paper, Bridget returned with a small stack of fliers. She looked between us and rolled her eyes with a smile. “Did Sophia already give you all the info from her encyclopedic brain?” She asked the kid. He nodded with a smile and took the flier anyway, waving as he headed out into the bustle of New York City. After placing the fliers back in their appropriate slot, she put her hands on her hips and gave me one of her withering glares. Well, withering to anyone who hadn’t lived with her for five years and developed immunity to it.

“What?” I replied innocently, turning my attention back to my laptop. 

“You’re not even supposed to be up here. Don’t you have an actual desk back there?” she pointed to the back offices where she’d just come from. 

“I prefer the company up here.” I gave her the cheesiest grin I could muster. 

“Where was I?” she asked with a smile. 

“Your date was mistaking you for Google Maps.” 

“Yes, right! So I told him to get on one of the blue lines heading to Rockaway and he’d be there in a jiffy.” 

I snorted reflexively. “That’s some good retribution.” 

“I thought so. Silly New York newbies.” 

“Maybe next time, you should take it as a red flag when his Tinder pic has him holding one Costco hot dog in each hand right next to his face suggestively.” 

“Everything’s a red flag. Gotta start somewhere.” 

‘Do you?’ I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want the inevitable lecture about “getting out there” that would follow. My last relationship had ended in a spectacular meltdown in the middle of a mid-town five star restaurant when my boyfriend’s wife interrupted our dinner to hand him their divorce papers herself. His wife that I hadn’t actually known about. I hadn’t dated anyone since then, unsure where in the hell in this city to actually find someone nice and kind and honest and not completely self-absorbed. 

After a few minutes working in tandem silence, Bridget turned to me. “You cool to watch the desk for a minute?” 

“Who’s happy to have me up here now?” I joked as she was already walking toward the bathrooms. 

In the past year, Bridget had been my lifeline once again. We met at NYU, connected by the campus bulletin board where we were both looking for a roommate mid-year. We quickly became best friends, practical sisters, doing everything together. When she was in between acting gigs (usually doing background or stand-in work on NYC based tv shows, but sometimes getting an off-Broadway role here and there), she’d pick up shifts at the front desk of Hostel Home NYC, where I worked full time. 

“How can I help?” I asked the guy who’d just walked up to the desk. It was already below freezing outside (an early one this year) and he took a moment to pull the buff down from his face and pull his hood back before replying. 

“Hi, checking in,” he answered before flashing a dazzling smile. 

Damn. 

Dazzling didn’t do it justice. This smile, the cheek bones that popped out to accommodate it, the bright green eyes that flashed along with it… it was more than dazzling. It was… radiant, sparkling, incandescent. It had been a long time since a guy had smiled at me like that and it was kind of hypnotic. And then the smile dropped, slightly.

“Can I… check in?” 

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry.” How long had I been gazing at him like an idiot? “And sorry about saying shit just then.” I moved from my laptop to the desktop computer we used for check in. “Last name? And an ID and credit card, please?”

“Jason Duke,” he answered, placing a Florida ID and a plain VISA card on the desk. I pulled up the reservation and took a quick look at the card. 

“Oh, this looks like a debit card. Just to let you know, we’re going to authorize the amount of your stay… 7 nights it looks like… as well as an additional $400 for –”

“Damages, room service… spa treatments,” he finished for me, adding the last two with clear irony (at least I hoped it was irony). “And it’ll be cleared after checkout. Yep, I’m familiar with how it goes.” 

“Okay,” I confirmed as I ran the card through the card reader and started to pull together a check in packet for him. I had to check. “Um, just to make sure, you know this is a hostel, right? No spa treatments, I’m afraid.” 

His smile dropped and he looked around. “Wait… this isn’t The Plaza? Man, I knew that hundred dollar a night rate was too good to be true.” He frowned at me and I was trying to figure out how to formulate a response when the frown cracked and that glittering smile returned. I laughed along with him as I handed his cards back and finished putting together the various fliers. 

“Well, no room service either, but we do have a self-service kitchen open 24 hours and I put a list of some of our favorite local spots in here for you. I also put our amenities and activities list for the next week and then there’s our rules and code of conduct, which you agreed to when you made the booking, but we include it as a reminder.” 

“Great!” He stood there for a long moment and I just… stood there back? Finally, he cleared his throat.

“You didn’t tell me what room. Or give me a key, actually.” He was sheepish, like he felt bad that he had to remind me about this. God, he must think I’m some brand new idiot employee by now.