About an hour ago, I was getting ready to fix myself some dinner when I heard the door open & saw on my security monitor a shirtless young man pacing the lobby. It's 48 degrees outside and the lobby is only 4 paces by 3 paces, short trip.
I didn't bother with my weapon, because this just didn't seem like an occasion when I would have to shoot someone in the kneecap.
"I was just attacked ! he cried." The kid, as it turned out, had stayed here a couple of nights ago and apparently was working with & now bunking with my "guests" in room three. In tears he asked for the key to said room so he could get his stuff. " I was attacked and my shirt ripped off me. I need to get in that room and get my stuff." He was pounding his fists on the front desk while the tears ran down his face. I lost interest around then.
"So sorry," I say to the weeper,"but you aren't a registered guest & I 'm not letting you in the room."
"I need to call 911", he sobbed . I handed him a phone. I'm a bitch, but not a heartless bitch. He related his sad tale to the police and cried that the "lady" at the Dixie Belle wouldn't let him get his stuff. While waiting for the cops, he asked to call his fiancee long distance, so I gave him my cell. I went back to my desk, but could hear him crying for sympathy from his lady love.
In the meantime, I called the DH, (because he hates to miss a little drama.) The DH and the cops got here around the same time, so I let them sort it out and finished fixing my dinner.
Here's the boring tale. The shirtless weeper & one of his roomies got drunk and argued over what ever young testosterone driven boys get intense about & the weeper got the worst of it. After he described his suitcase and cell phone, the DH and a cop went in the room, retrieved his gear and sent him on his way to cry on his fiancee's shoulder. Poor girl.
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