Mr. Hotel Clerk

 

A few weeks ago I was checking out of my hotel in Nacogdoches. The man behind the counter was cute. He had a great smile and a Texas accent. He even spoke Spanish. We had a good, albeit quick, conversation and I did my best to bat my eyes and show my dimples.

I didn't think much of this encounter as I walked out the hotel door except for the fact that he was really cute. As I backed out of my parking space on the side parking lot and before I drove away, instincts told me to look left. I did. There was Mr. Hotel Clerk staring out the window at me. This was the nudge I needed to start my mind spinning.

Why had I been in such a hurry? Why did I not talk to him longer? How could I make this work? What excuse could I find to get me back in the hotel after my hearing? After consulting my schedule and realizing I was being ridiculous, I decided to hold off a few weeks until I would be back in town at the same hotel.

I returned to Nac last week and arrived at the hotel mid-afternoon. As I parked, I reviewed my game plan. (This story helps to illustrate just how infrequent I run into cute, single men - key word single.) As I walk into the hotel I see three people at the counter including him. He looks up and flashes his big, endearing smile. Yep, he's cute. I was still a little unsure as to how this would work with two other people involved and I resigned myself to the idea that it probably wouldn't.

Another male hotel clerk began checking me in. Darn. Despite this I try to make conversation with Mr. HC. The maid stops in to say something to him in Spanish and he responds. I try to make some lame comment about this. Last visit he said he had graduated with a Spanish major and I had remarked that at one point I had known Spanish as well.

I'm all checked in and I ask the clerk helping me if there are any local restaurants he recommends. A fair and sincere question - I really did not want to eat fast food yet again. He tells me I look like an Auntie Pastas kind of girl and begins giving me directions. This is when Mr. HC chimes in.

HC: Oh I'm going there tonight!

Other clerk: Ok, so did you follow those directions?

Me: I think so. If I forget, I'll just come down and ask again. Thanks.

I start walking away not really sure what to do at this point. HC helps me out.

HC: Hey, if you really decide to go...let me know...

Me: Well, I'm going...

HC: [jokingly] Ha, okay, how 'bout I'll drive and you pay?

Me: Okay.

He looks at me like, are you serious?

Me: [shrugging my shoulders] I need the company.

HC: [looking a little flabbergasted] Uh, ok what time?  Do you want to meet me here at 7:30?

Me: Sounds good.

I walk away. Up the elevator and down the hall I think, did that really just happen?  I giggle to myself and immediately call my sisters. They seem a little worried that I will be getting in a car with a  complete stranger. Understandably good cause for concern, but for some reason I'm not. What I am concerned about is my pounding head. I figure my sniffles will ward off any unwanted advances.

Because I can no longer ignore the fact that my cold has taken a turn for the worse, I find a local doctor and get a prescription for antibiotics for what has now become a sinus infection. As I wait for my prescription to be filled at the Walmart pharmacy, I peruse the toy aisle. I come across the Magic 8 Ball and ask it if the night will turn out well - Outlook Good. I send the good news to my sisters.

When I return to the hotel, Mr. HC is no longer there so I ask the other clerk what my soon-to-be date's name is and if he's a good guy. He tells me his name, assures me that he is and that he'll have me laughing in no time. He also informs me that HC said he would be there at 7:00. This reassures me that 1. our conversation actually did take place and 2. that HC was not only going to be punctual, he was going to be early. Impressive.

At 7:30 I head down to the lobby. I'm on the second floor and there is a second floor balcony overlooking the lobby. Anyone sitting at the front desk could easily hear the elevator open. As I exit, I hear guitar music. Sure enough, Mr. HC is sitting behind the front desk strumming on his guitar. No big deal. This is when I also see he is wearing cowboy boots. Oh no, I think. I have a serious, well-documented weakness for cowboys.

Mr. HC and I finally and officially introduce ourselves and I make sure to get his last name as well in case there's any funny business. Mr. HC is a complete gentleman and opens the car door for me. Later in the night he let's it slip that he got his car cleaned before picking me up. Again, impressive.

Auntie Pastas is an Italian restaurant housed in an old railroad building. I'm told the building rattles when a train goes by. As this was a small town in East Texas, I wasn't expecting much but found myself pleasantly surprised. The food was amazing and not just for Nac standards. HC lets me order first. I get the Mediterranean mahi mahi and HC orders the seafood fettuccine. Both dishes come with a little Texas flare that includes crawfish.

The other hotel clerk was right. Mr. HC knows how to make you laugh. He's quite the talker and has plenty of stories to share. HC was raised Church of Christ and still attends church on Sundays. He cycles and loves to travel. He also just graduated from college in December. (What is it with me and younger men?) He tries to do the math as well by asking about law school and how long I've been practicing. It's clear I'm older than him, but I try to narrow the gap by neglecting to mention the years I spent teaching. Doh. But did I mention he has a great smile?

I somehow make it through dinner without the use of a Kleenex even though my constant smile is not helping my sinus infection. When the waitress asks if we want dessert I decline. HC asks if I'm suuurre? I am, but that doesn't stop us from talking.

Me: So do you do this often?

HC: Take out guests from the hotel?  Nope, this is a first.

Me: Ok, because I never do this.

When the waitress comes with the bill, I reach for my wallet. HC assures me that he had been joking earlier and that he's got it covered. We continue to talk until we notice it's closing time and the restaurant is starting to shut down. Closing time comes early in small towns.

He drives me back to the hotel as we listen to the original song of a cover I like and have never heard. He parks too close to a pole and realizes I'll have difficulty getting out as a result so he repositions the car to avoid it.  The song ends and then...

he wraps his strong arms around me for a romantic embrace and a passionate kiss goodnight....

no

he tells me what a wonderful evening he's had, how he's looking forward to my next visit, and in the meantime can he get my phone number to keep in touch...

no

he says he has the morning shift tomorrow and he'll see me then (along with some flower, treat, or guitar serenade no doubt)

no, instead

I open my car door and he awkwardly opens his.  He decides against whatever he was planning, stays in his seat and says,

HC: I'll see you soon.

Me: What? Like tomorrow?

HC: No, I'm not working tomorrow.

Me: Oh ok. Well, thanks for dinner.

And that was that. Besides the hotel clerk smirking at me as I walk in, that is the end of this little tale. No note left for me at the front desk the next morning. No illegal stalking of hotel guest information to get my number and call me. No words passed on by other hotel clerks.

Sorry to disappoint with such an anti-climatic ending.  But in a few short weeks, I'll be back. In the same town at the same hotel with perhaps the same hotel clerks. Maybe I'll have more to tell then. Maybe not. Either way it was a fun night - sinus infection and all - and sure beat sitting in a hotel room all alone.



So what's your take...how young is too young to date?