Tickets

If my life here at the hotel was a musical it would probably be called Those Damn Tickets. (Or possibly The Phantom of the Opera—No Wait, That's My Boss.) Jackie called about five minutes ago and said I sold them incorrectly again. Apparently yesterday when I was selling those accursed attraction tickets at the Friday price (because it was Friday) I should have been selling them at the Saturday price because it was after five o'clock. This is how she explained it:

Jackie: No one can use them after five o'clock, you know?
(Sounds of her feeding on half-deceased former guests in background. It's exactly as squishy and terrifying as your imagination thinks it is)
Me: (Silence)
Jackie: I'm also calling because I was wondering why you let the people in 417 change rooms three times. We can't be letting people go from room to room like that, you know?
(Pause; sound of kidneys being devoured by horrible undead creature of the night)
Me: (Disgusted silence)
Jackie: What if it was summer time? (Sound of drinking tears) We wouldn't have any rooms for them to switch to, you know? (Chewing vigorously on part of someone I once worked with and had simply assumed was fired...UNTIL NOW) Okay, I'll talk to you later.

Any day now that holy water I ordered is going to come in the mail and I'll be able to save us all. Any day now.