Snobs

About fifteen minutes ago a woman came in and asked me if she could see a room before committing to rent it. I hate when people ask that because they're usually pretty snotty and it always seems like they're saying "Sleeping here is probably worse than going to a landfill, smearing myself with the fecal matter of various stray animals that are unwell, and pulling a sharp, jagged piece of plywood over myself for warmth while wishing the Angel of Death would come and take me away from all the suffering in the world, but I need to know for sure" without actually saying it. But I, hotel peon that I am, must sasslessly hand over a key and let her go do whatever she feels like, within reason.
After a time she returned and said: "I don't mean to sound like a snob, but I was expecting something a lot nicer. Can you recommend something nicer nearby?" I kind of want her to get adopted by everybody's favorite pregnant lady. I'm telling you, one day of fishbowling and freebasing and Snob Woman would be begging us for any room we had available, even if it was a storage closet in the swampy-smelling pool area. But alas, the pregnant lady doesn't want more children (I of course am basing this on the fact that she doesn't want the one she's got on the way now).
So I told Snob Woman about some other hotels in the area per her request, but she soon became irritated when she realized I didn't have maps leading her directly from here to there. Eventually she huffed out of the lobby, but not before leaving a fine mist of disgust and disapproval in her wake. Snobs! Can't live with 'em, can't make pins out of their femurs and go b**ch bowling (because they can afford way better attorneys than you). Well, you can't, anyway. But I totally will.