power's out. lobby is dimly lit
by some emergency lighting and glow sticks, previously supplied
by the seven-out-of-ten still stationed behind the main desk
as though there were any way she could help anyone
do anything
from there.

she's honestly more like a seven and a half
but there's something about the way she carries herself
that makes me feel like i should round down instead of up.
maybe she's smug.
i haven't really talked to her.
i don't know.

a few people ask her questions she can't answer.
then they give up.

it's sparsely populated, but getting less so.
the biggest crowd is the one by the no-longer-automatic doors
smoking cigarettes with their backs to the hurricane.
it reminds me of that photo of soldiers planting a flag pole
for some reason.

only slightly less conspicuous are the four or five thirty-somethings
whose eyes are inches away from the windows, and fixated
on every aspect of the 80-mile-an-hour gales on the other side.
the space from face to pane is quite probably less
than that from the inner surface of the glass to the outer,
and while i'll be the first to admit that i know fuck-all of survivalism,
that strikes even me as pretty goddamn stupid.

i don't say anything about it.

i overhear an old american next to me
telling stories about how he flew bombers in the second world war.
later, his second wife will ask me who i work for,
and i'll lie to her face.

that moment comes and goes quickly.

someone turns on a gas generator outside,
and moments later the lobby is fully illuminated.
despite countless warnings about the likelihood of this very moment,
an awful couple are demanding a refund for the night.
they don't end up getting it.
if god walks among us,
it does not appear he is a night manager at the riverhead garden inn.

the storm is getting less interesting,
and people start leaving.

i look over a paltry selection of novels, histories,
and what appears to be a handbook for retail salesmen.
checking their first pages,
i learn that each came from the same school library.

i invent a story about how they wound up here.
i wonder if it's a better story than their pages tell.

i'm not too terribly hurt when a man approaches me
saying he's about to turn off the generator for the night.
then,
he does so.

and by the light of a smartphone,

i tread slowly up some pitch black stairs,
down a pitch black hallway,
to a pitch black hotel room numbered 336.
thankfully,
movies like the shining have empowered me
to make these three mundane events excruciatingly terrifying,
and any disappointment for the lack of spectacle this evening
subsides quickly.

the wind is still shrieking outside.
my curtains are closed.
i shut my eyes many yards away from the window,
and it doesn't look any different from when they were open.

i either fell asleep or just lay here all night.
it's hard to tell.

10/31/2012

Author's Note: Before I interviewed for my job, my father told me I should learn as much as I could about the company, so I could talk about why I wanted to work there. I learned that Siemens supported the Nazis in WWII. I decided not to bring it up.

Posted on 10/31/2012
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