The journey up north had been terrible; it had rained all the way up the M1. The customer had booked the hotel. It was a privately owned place and to be fair as I pulled onto the carpark I was wondering if I should find somewhere else. The carpark was almost empty. There was rubbish blowing around and it did not look very nice at all. There were overflowing bins and empty pint glasses in the beer garden.
I grabbed my overnight bag and headed into the reception. The reception was dowdy and unkempt; the only beacon of hope was the receptionist. She was pinning notices to board when I walked in. I guessed her age at around twenty-five. She had blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and a cute smile.
She had a nice figure, not big and not small; as she reached up to the notice board, I could see she had a nice set of hips and nice round bum. She was wearing a dress, obviously the company uniform; it was short and showed a nice pair of legs. When she turned to say hello I could see she had a nice pair of boobs, they looked big on her average frame, and she had a very pretty face, nice ruby red lips and bright blue eye
“Hello there, “she said as she walked behind the reception desk, “my names Becky, how can I help!”
“I have a room booked in the name of Zak...” I said with a smile.
“oh yes we have you down here, it’s all paid for, you are in room 101,” she said and handed me a check-in card to fill in and once that was done she gave me a key and a scrap of paper with the WIFI code on it.
“Would you like to book a table in the restaurant tonight?” she asked with a smile.
“Yes please “I glance at my watch, it was six o’clock, “do you have one free around seven o’clock please?”
“Yes, that’s no problem at all,” she said and again beamed me a smile.” Right. So your room is down the corridor, through the double doors and to the left.”
My room was like a throwback to the sixties, I had never seen so many variations of beige. There was a desk covered in coffee rings and cigarette burns, as was the bedside table. The curtains were frayed and had seen better days. The carpet was stained and threadbare in places. I pulled back the duvet and the bed looked and smelled clean so that was a bonus I thought to myself I went into the bathroom, it had also seen better days, the bath had rust stains and the mirror was cracked. The basin, bath and toilet looked clean but all had seen better days and there were more than a few chips in the porcelain I filled the kettle to make a coffee, as it boiled I comforted myself with the thought that I was only here for one night. I looked around the room as the kettle boiled; there were cobwebs on the light fittings and there was a repair in the plasterboard wall, which looked like a five-year-old had been let loose on it. To say it was shabby was an understatement.
I looked around and again the fact that I was only there for one night flood back into my brain and I decided to make the most of a bad situation. The kettle beeped to say it had boiled so I made myself a coffee, I grabbed a novel from my overnight case, sat on the bed and drank coffee whilst I read.
I went down to the restaurant and again was amazed by how many shades of beige there were, it was a homage to the sixties I was sure, a theme restaurant for days gone by. There were four tables being used and one young waiter serving. He showed me to a table and plonked a menu in front of me. He then walked off to serve someone else. Ten minutes later, he returned to me
“Can I get you a drink mate?” he asked more back street café than a hotel restaurant.
“Yes a pint of lager and a jug of water with ice but no lemon please,” I said with a smile.
I read the menu and decided on the soup followed by a steak, while I waited for the waiter to come back I continued reading my book. He walked in and out of the room a few times, at glance at the clock told me it was twenty minutes since I had ordered my drinks.
A glance around the other tables told me I was not the only one that was getting annoyed at the lack of service.
He came to the table with the lager and jug of water with lemon and no ice, I pointed out his mistake and he tutted before returning with a jug of water with no lemon and no ice. I did not bother asking him to correct it. I just ordered my soup and fillet steak, cooked medium.
It was half an hour later, by the time he came back with my starter.
He plonked the soup in front of me and a plate with a bread roll, the roll rolled off the plate and hit the floor, he picked it up and placed it back on the plate, nice I thought to myself.
“Any chance of a new roll?” I asked,
“Yea if you want, “he said, two minutes later he placed a roll on the plate.
Two spoonfuls told me all I needed to know about the soup, I called the waiter over to my table
“I am sorry this is cold and tasteless,” I said trying not to convey any anger
“Shall I pop it in the microwave to warm it up?” he asked obviously trying to be helpful
“No that’s fine; I will go straight to the main”
I should have known something was wrong when he came straight back with it, it was overcooked and looked like a bit of old shoe leather. The chips were nearly burnt and the peas like hard bullets.
Again, I called him over and he did not really know what to say. He offered me something else but told me there would be an hour’s wait as a table of four had just ordered and the chef was stressed out.
I told him not to worry and to give me the bill, I was expecting to pay for the beer only but he gave me a bill to sign with the soup and steak still on it.
“I am not paying for the food I sent back pal,” I told him as politely as I could
“Well someone has to and you ordered it mate, “he told me his voice loud and angry, so much so that other diners looked around at my table.
“No way mate, to be fair it was totally inedible,” I told him, my own voice quiet and level
“Look you ordered it you have to pay for it,” he said in a very confrontational tone.
It was all about to kick off when Becky the receptionist walked into the restaurant, I called her over and she did so with a smile.
“Is everything okay Sir? “she asked, the question was directed at me but the waiter replied
“This joker won’t pay for his food,” he shouted, I pushed my chair back and stood up, the waiter stepped back.
“Daniel, please apologise to the customer now,” Becky said sharply so I sat down.
“Sorry mate,” he said sulkily but you could tell he was not.
“Right Daniel if you would like to serve some of the other tables,” she said in a curt voice And he ambled off giving me a shitty look, on another day in another place he would have been on his arse.
“Right sir, please tell me why you don’t wish to pay for the food,” she said and gave me that beaming smile.
So I gave her the whole story chapter and verse, she made apologetic noises as I told her the tale. When I had finished she asked me if I would like another drink, which she poured, delivered, and went over to talk to Dan the waiter. Minutes later she came back, took my bill, and ripped it up.
“I am so sorry it seems we have really let you down” her smile had gone but she still acted professionally
“That’s okay these things happen” I replied.
“Are you sure there is nothing else you fancy?” she asked, the was almost a note of pleading in her voice, To be fair if she knew what was going through my mind she might have had slapped me around the face.
The fracases in the restaurant had left me with a bad taste in my mouth I decided to call it a night.
“No thanks, I will just head back to my room” I replied and off I went.
Once In my room I closed the door behind me, I fired up my laptop and opened up a browser, and from my favourites picked the link to a well know travel review web site. I would have done the review there and then but the hotel’s WIFI was so slow I gave up and decide to take a shower.
So I stripped off and went into the bathroom, To be fair the water was nice and hot. I do love a long hot shower. I had just stepped out and started to dry myself when there was a knock on the door. I wrapped the towel around my waist and went to the door. I opened it and there was Becky, she was carrying a big tray with a silver cloche on top.
Without a word she slipped past me and placed the tray on the desk and took off the cloche, there was a cheese sandwich, some potato chips in a bowl, a huge slice of chocolate cake and two cans of beer.
“Here you go,” she said, “I didn’t want you to go hungry”
She looked at the desk and her face darkened, a sadness fell over it. She had seen the screen with the travel review web site open and ready to go. She must have known it would not be favourable.
“Please Sir, please don’t do a poor review” she cried, tears in her eyes., “ I know we have let you down but we are doing our best!”
“Look, Becky...” I started to say but she interrupted me.
“Please this is my families hotel and we know it’s not up to standard, we are trying hard, “she told me, “but every bad review is another nail in our coffin”
She sat down and pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.
“So why are things not being sorted out?” I asked, feeling sad for her.
“Oh Mom had a boyfriend that was the manager here and he walked out on her and emptied the bank account at the same time” she sniffed. “We are trying to get back on our feet but it’s hard”
I did feel sorry for her and in that very second; I decided not to write a scathing review of the hotel.
“Okay, I won’t do a review,” I told her and put my hand on her shoulder. I felt a little weird, me in my towel with a fully dressed girl, young enough to be my daughter in the room.
“Please is there any way I could persuade you to do a good review, please Zak, “she said her eyes boring into mine.
“Look I can’t lie and give you a five-star review but for the service, you have just given me I can manage two stars, how does that sound!”
“Is there nothing I can do to bump that up to five stars?” she pleaded. I could tell from the tone of her voice this was important to her, the passion was tangible.
“A five-star review would do us the world of good,” she pleaded. I could hear the passion and determination in her voice and it jolted something inside me. But at the end of the day, the place was a tip.
“Come on Becky that’s pushing it a bit,” I said and then let out a gasp as her right hand slipped into the gap in my towel and she grabbed my cock. She did it in one nifty movement, at first she just held my prick and I was not sure if she would try to pull it off in an act of anger, or would she...
Then I felt her stroking her fingers up and down my shaft and I knew the answer.
She looked me in the eyes as she stroked my dick softly and deftly. There was a look of need, of determination in her eyes.
“Come on Zak there must be some way we can sort this out, “she said, almost in a whisper as her fingers slid up and down my now semi-rigid organ.