The Middleman | ongoing

34 | give up your klepto habits

34 | give up your klepto habits

Song: Dream Team by Niykee Heaton

Depicted Above: Diego Barrueco as Quinn Carter

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I would never have thought to describe a hotel as a well-oiled machine, but that's exactly what Hotel Alastair resembled.

Bell boys literally hopped around bringing luggage from different points of interest. Elevators were constantly occupied, pinging on the sound of their arrival. There were various ones in usage, some completely see through with a view of the many, many floors and just the overall extravagance of the place itself. Other ones were to the side, still adorned with many details, but relegated to a more private status—sans transparent glass.

Suits and ties traversed across the pristine and sparkling marble floor. I could only wonder how they kept up with the floor maintenance. With the amount of businessmen and women crawling around, glued to their bluetooths and phones, the place was a scuffing hazard in the making.

It was dynamic.

It was chaotic.

It was the exquisite yet refreshingly modern Hotel Alastair as I had discovered.

Quinn took the lead, plowing around some businessmen and women to make a path to the front desk, as I followed suit, observing the hotel's method to the madness. They were definitely under some high pressure from the Big Little Business Expo, but I could tell it was being handled well. They had protocol, and it was being followed to the tee.

I felt slightly self conscious as I took in the fact that most of the women around were engulfed in cocktail dresses with the occasional badass pantsuit taking center stage. Likewise, the men were also dressed to the nines in their ritzy suits. It wasn't that I dressed sloppy for the flight. My outfit was, indeed, comfy and cute. I was sure of that, and so I shook off the thought, feeling a little more at ease under my Nike hat.

I wasn't necessarily a fish out of water. Quinn, too, had opted for casual but comfortable attire. In fact, some who entered the hotel were also sporting the same look. It was just that the concentration of classiness—cufflinks and Swarovski crystals—was all directed down in the lobby as I was guessing the opening ceremony would be held on the first floor itself.

In my daze, I feel a key card being gently enclosed in my hand. I snap out of my quiet observance, noticing the luggage we'd been hauling had in an instant materialized into thin air. Either we had been robbed right by our feet pretty smoothly, or the staff here were insanely efficient.

"Eighth floor. Walfin got us rooms right next to each other. Our bags are taken care of. Let's go," Quinn says curtly, determined on getting to a set of elevators fast.

With the crowd around us, I was in complete agreement. I watch, letting Quinn once again figure this out. He was, after all, much more experienced with all of this than me.

His eyes scan the vast expanse of the bumbling lobby, carefully identifying a path to the least busy elevator.

"Not that I'm complaining, but aren't they generally supposed to come up with us and the luggage?" I ask Quinn, confused by this strange approach.