There Is No 'Om' in 'Hotel'

entry into Terrible Minds' flash fiction challenge 

Running away from the menacing grip of Chicago wind, Annalie Washington was greeted by a warm embrace of the hotel’s lobby. Cautiously, she let the cold hands out of the holey pockets of too small Old Navy jacket and pressed the button marked ‘For the Employees Only.’

She descended into the hotel’s underbelly, keeping eyes down and mumbling hellos and como estas to fellow staffers that were passing by. Her change into her uniform was swift and rivaled Superman’s.

Passing down the floor’s hall, she caught a reflection of herself in the shiny modern hotel walls. ‘I look like a doctor in this garb’ she chuckled to herself; amused at a thought of having something in common with her favorite ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ characters and much less liked sister the pediatrician.

‘Room 362, what seems to be the problem?’ she asked in a mocking tone as she opened the door.

She took in the situation in front of her; the occupant of the suite was clearly an Alpha Dog, marking his territory with wet towels, used sheets and even few condom wrappers. The mini fridge was fully stocked which downgraded the guest a bit; Annalie envisioned a conference attendee who possibly could not expense a jar of peanuts.

The room 363 was almost like an apology for the work she had just done. With a hefty tip on a pillow and nicely straightened covers, the room reeked of a white-collar guilt.

The cleaner she left the rooms, the more confused her mind was becoming. She felt like a pinball, shuffling up and down the hotel.

Every now and then, she would unbend her back and look at the Magnificent Mile outside; its pavement beckoning to her.

As always, it was very clear to her that she had to release this pent-up energy by some means. The penthouse suits were her last stop during this shift.

When she was changing into her own clothes half an hour later, she overheard the other cleaning crew people whispering about the manager’s red alert on one of the rooms. Apparently, the rocker that was renting one went crazy and trashed it.

She buttoned up her jacket, wiped out pearls of sweat from her forehead and dashed outside the hotel. The building’s neon lights cast crimson streaks over her face that was frown with disappointment.

The little knob  from the room she had pillaged was missing from her pocket. She hated when she would lose her little memorabilia.

Luckily, by the time she boarded a bus, her mood elevated. With the evidence gone, she was forgetting all about the incident. Its distant memory was fading, like the downtown in the back of the bus.