Exodus

 Listen, lady, I'd love to help but I don't work here. 

I can tell by her expression she's not going to take that for an answer. She sighs and asks me again to get her a monsaco, all she wants is a simple monsaco.

I don't know what that is, and I'm late for checkout. I'm a guest here, lady, just like you.

Perhaps she is a little touched with dementia? I think it. I don't say it, but her friend pipes up and asks me why I can't just help her. Just go back there (wherever there is) and get this woman a monsaco! (Socialized dementia?) 

I try to say I don't have the authority to go back there. I'm limited to the guest areas, and I'm late. I don't want to be rude, but I haven't packed yet, and checkout is happening now. 

She wants to speak to the manager. The real manager. 

I'm not sure why I'm still standing here, polite, softspoken, and late for checkout. I need to pack, and we all know how it goes when you need to pack, and you're late, and you're probably depending on somebody else to also pack their things, and they aren't even aware that it's time to checkout.

When I get back to the room, I think, man oh man, this is going to take forever. Why would I even bring this much stuff with me to a hotel? Like I had planned to move in and live here forever. There are things in drawers and under the bed, and I'm not sure if this is mine or my roommate's. This stuff is not going to fit in the one suitcase. I might need extra bags.

Or maybe throw some stuff away? Leave this shit behind. I don't need it, and it's holding me back. I gotta get outta this  place. 

I have done all I can do here. Why did I stay this long?

What was I thinking? What was I thinking? What was I thinking?