Crow's Nest [✓]

Chapter 5

Harry woke up early the next morning, the jet lag kicking in. He had slept uncomfortably. The mattress was too flimsy and bendy, causing it to feel more like a waterbed you fall into. He popped his spine a few times and rubbed his aching neck. Never will he ever be ungrateful for his bed back in Oslo again. He'll welcome it with a warm embrace once he gets back. But for now, that will have to wait. He had a job to do.

Harry decided that he'll shower before going to the police station. He stepped into the cramped and damp bathroom, his eyes squinting against the meagre light cast by a single, flickering bulb.

As he approached the shower, he pulled the thin, stained curtain aside and reached out to turn on the sputtering cold water. The water cascaded over his body, the temperature just on the edge of being uncomfortably cool. He stood under the spray, trying to ignore the sense of grime and neglect that seemed to cling to every corner of the bathroom. After a few more minutes, Harry shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, his skin still damp from the cold spray. He grabbed a threadbare towel from a rusted rack and began to dry himself off, wincing as the rough fabric abraded his skin. There was no mirror, so he couldn't tell how much of the bathroom's grime had transferred to his skin.

He got dressed quickly and made his way out the hotel room. As he walked along the hallway, a oldish man walked past him, pushing a cart filled with cleaning supplies. Harry stopped and looked at him.
"Sir, could you clean my room for me?" Harry asked.
"What room?" The man asked in a Hispanic accent.
"Uh room 203."
"Not cleaning time yet," the man replied and moved on past Harry. Harry furrowed his brow. His room looked like it hadn't been cleaned for weeks and this man said it wasn't due for cleaning yet? It was madness.

As Harry made his way down the creaking stairs to the lobby, he was seething with frustration over the state of the room he'd been assigned. The front desk was manned by a young woman with a tired smile, and she looked up as he approached the desk.
"Excuse me," Harry began, his voice barely concealing his irritation, "but the room I was assigned is absolutely filthy. The bathroom is gross, and the water barely works. I need to get a different room."
The young woman behind the desk sighed, clearly accustomed to complaints. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir," she replied in a flat voice, "but unfortunately, we're completely booked for the night. There's nothing else available."
"What do you mean, nothing else available?" Harry's voice rose in frustration. "You can't just leave me in that room. It's absolutely disgusting, and the water is barely working."
The front desk worker pursed her lips, her patience clearly wearing thin. "I understand your concerns," she responded, her voice still flat. "But I'm telling you, we're completely booked. There are no other rooms available. It's peak season, and rooms are hard to come by."

As Harry and the front desk worker were engaged in their argument, a portly man with a balding head stepped out from an office behind the front desk. It was the hotel's manager, and he had clearly overheard the conversation.
"What seems to be the problem here?" The manager's voice was cool and authoritative as he walked closer to the desk.
The front desk worker gestured towards Harry and let out a sigh. "This gentleman is dissatisfied with his room," she explained, her voice tired. "He's claiming it's filthy and the water isn't working properly."
The manager turned to Harry, an unimpressed expression on his face. "I see," he said, his voice betraying little empathy. "And have you actually stayed in the room, sir, to confirm these claims?"
Harry bristled at the implication that he was lying. "Of course I have," he snapped. "I wouldn't be here complaining if I hadn't. The room is a dump, and the water doesn't work properly at all."

The manager leaned closer, eyeing Harry with a mixture of irritation and scepticism. "I find it hard to believe that the room is in such a state," he said. "We keep our rooms clean and the utilities in working order. Perhaps you're being a tad dramatic?"
Harry's irritation flared higher. "Dramatic? Are you implying I'm exaggerating?" His voice rose defensively. "I'm telling you, the room is a disaster. Why would I lie about something like that?"
The manager sniffed and gave Harry a disdainful look. "Perhaps you're accustomed to the hygiene standards of your country," he sneered, "but here in this establishment, we pride ourselves on cleanliness and maintenance. I'm confident the room is fine, and you're simply not accustomed to our standards."

Harry clenched his jaw, his irritation boiling over. "Are you implying that because I'm from overseas, I can't recognize a clean room when I see one? That's ridiculous."
The manager rolled his eyes, clearly dismissing Harry's concerns. "Look, sir," he said, his tone condescending, "I've been running this hotel for years. I know a thing or two about cleanliness and maintenance. The room you've been assigned is clean, and the plumbing works just fine. You're making a mountain out of a molehill."

Harry gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, trying to rein in his irritation. "Maybe the room is fine by your standards, but I'm telling you, it's not up to par. I expect a certain level of cleanliness and functioning utilities when I pay for a room, and I'm not getting that here."

The manager's patience had clearly run out. He fixed Harry with a hard glare and spoke in a cold, flat tone. "If you're going to continue to make a scene and insult our establishment, then perhaps you should consider finding another place to stay for the night."

Harry's eyes widened in shock at the manger's abrupt response. "Are you serious? You're telling me to leave because I'm not satisfied with my room?" he sputtered, his anger now tinged with disbelief.
The manager's expression remained cold and resolute. "You're causing a disturbance and insulting our business, sir. We have a right to refuse service to anyone who misbehaves in our establishment. So, yes, I'm asking you to leave."
Harry's eyes widened further, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He opened his mouth to protest, but the manager cut him off. "If you refuse to comply, I'll have to call the police and have you escorted out," he warned.

Harry wanted to protest and say he was the police, but he remembered that he wasn't in his country plus, did he really want to fight to stay another night in this dump?

Reluctantly, Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He knew arguing further would only make the situation worse. "All right, fine," he said, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "I'll leave. But I expect a refund for the room."

The manager's expression softened slightly, but he remained firm. "I'm sorry, but our policy is clear. Once you've checked in and stayed in a room, we can't offer a refund. It's the policy of this establishment, whether you're dissatisfied or not," he said matter-of-factly.
Harry's hands curled into fists again, but he knew he was defeated. There was no point in arguing further with the manager's ironclad policy. "Fine," he grunted, "Just let me go get my stuff."

And with that, Harry grabbed his bags and left the hotel, now realizing he had nowhere to stay. He could check into another hotel, but he feared that he might end up in another dump like the previous one. With only one option left, he flagged down a taxi and got in, asking the driver to take him to the police station.