Mack Zack
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Desk of Desperation - Ch. 1 (August 2024 Story)
🕑 Added 2024-10-16 00:39:24 +0000 UTCGrace Andrews bit her lip staring up at the wall clock directly across from her, above the glass double-doors.
I can make it. I can make it. I can make it. Only twenty minutes. That’s four sets of five minutes. I can handle four sets of five minutes.
But the goddamn computer was being so slow. For a renowned hotel like The Regal Chateau, they clearly had plenty of issues with their ISP. They had jumped from Optimum to Verizon back to Optimum only to settle with T-Mobile. And T-Mobile wasn’t very cooperative right now, if ever.
The guest waiting for her response looked testy, checking his watch and glancing around the pristine lobby. Everything about him struck Grace as being important, the way his hair was gelled back, the smooth trim of his scruff, the faint whiff of expensive cologne, the fancy beige trench coat that was probably worth more than two month’s paycheck.
“S-sorry, sir,” Grace said. “Computer’s slow.”
“I can see that,” he said heavily.
Grace had to stand up. Sitting down made her bloated gut feel worse.
I knew I shouldn’t have gotten Chipotle today! Dammit, Grace. No matter how many times you think you will get to have lunch on time it never happens. There’s always some bullshit you have to take care of!
“Are you alright?” the man asked, raising a brow, the first instance of care in his voice since his arrival.
“Yeah. Just been sitting down for a while. You know how it is. Need to stretch those legs!”
The man wasn’t amused. He said dryly, “I’m a manager of a top firm; I don’t sit at desks very long.”
Grace averted eye contact. She looked down at the web browser still loading. “Right. Of course.”
At long last – the screen loaded.
“Ah!” she said, “here we go! I found your booking. Mr. Perry. Sorry for the wait. You will be in room 606.” She slapped the card key on the counter a bit too hastily. He was taken aback. She was ready to be rid of him so she could relieve herself in the bathroom, but then he badgered her with questions.
“Is there free continental breakfast?”
“Yes. Er. I mean no. Sort of. The only free breakfast is a cup of coffee and a granola bar.”
“How much is breakfast?”
Grace tried hard not to sigh with exasperation. She had started to clench her buttocks to prevent whatever terrible thing might come out. She dared to think for a moment she could silently fart in front of him, but another stomach grumble told her she couldn’t trust it. The stomach gurgle may have been loud enough for Mr. Perry to hear. Grace awkwardly laughed over it and said, “It’s a bit much. It starts at $25 per person.”
Mr. Perry hummed nonchalantly. “I can afford it.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“There’s an ice machine on each floor, right?”
Ohmyfuckinggod, my guy, just leave. You have your card key!
“Yes.”
“Because the other day I was across the country at a Hilton Double-Tree and not all the floors had an ice machine. That was a rude awakening, especially when I had some important guests over.”
“I’m sure it was but here at The Regal Chateau, every floor has an ice machine.”
Mr. Perry gave a genial smile and finally left.
Thanking God that there was no line of guests, Grace hurried across the lobby to the bathroom, her heels clacking in a flurry. She reached for the first stall…only to find that it didn’t budge. She cursed and checked the second—also occupied.
Oh, for the love of GOD. What are the chances that all of these are occupied at the same time?
They had four stalls, and sure enough…all of them were occupied. Grace made doubly sure by crouching down to check, and sure enough she saw a row of feet.
Her stomach had loosened a bit when she thought she was going to use a stall. But now that she still had to wait, she couldn’t tense up and hold it in again. Her stomach trembled and made a terribly loud noise that made her blush and shy away as if she were being looked at. Sure, nobody in the stalls was watching her, but the fact that she was making the only sounds in the room made her terribly self-conscious.
For the most part, Chipotle made her fart louder than your average college frat boy. As did Thai food. And Chinese food. And---
Grace’s sensitive stomach was not very indicative of her name. She leaned on the sink with one hand, writhing with every loud rumble her stomach made. She gazed at her reflection, which now looked a little disheveled from holding it in. Despite her wavy black hair and knack for pairing her body with a great business skirt or pantsuit and high heels, Grace never felt like she was a “Grace”. More like a…she didn’t know what. She couldn’t think clearly with her stomach feeling like Godzilla and Megalon were duking it out. But “graceful” was never an adjective she would use to describe herself. There was nothing graceful about being able to eat a family size bag of Doritos during a single shift at work, or spilling black bean sauce on her blazer during her lunch break, or kicking back in her apartment with a beer and needing to unbutton her pants. There was nothing graceful about her wide forehead or dumb lost look when she was trying to understand something new. There was especially nothing graceful about her spending Friday nights alone in her apartment eating ice cream from the container and binging Netflix shows. Now she was here stuck in this ridiculous position waiting for someone to leave a stall, also not looking quite graceful as she was half-bent over the sink trying to brace the terrible stomach ache.
She bit her lip as her stomach roared again, trying hard not to groan out loud. Then again, would doing so make one of them get the hint that she was desperate? She could sneak into the men’s bathroom…but the risk wouldn’t be worth it. If she was caught, wouldn’t that be like an HR violation basically?
And the longer she had to wait, the more chances her boss would find the front desk vacant, and then be upset with her. Again. This wasn’t the first time she snuck into the bathroom to drop a bomb the size of Texas.
Grace was starting to sweat now. Actual, literal beads of sweat started to roll from her forehead. She cursed and shook involuntarily. Her stomach now felt like she had swallowed a bowling ball.
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, SOMEONE LEAVE!
Someone flushed!
At last – the glorious sound of a latch being undone.
The woman furthest from her had done her business. She was a short and stout middle-aged woman with some gray hairs. She held the stall door open for Grace. Then as Grace motioned forward, she lost all control of her bowels. It was too late. All she could do now was pray that it was quiet.
It wasn’t.
PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!
Grace froze in mid-stride as she ripped the loudest fart that reverberated against the bathroom walls. Her own eardrums hurt a little by the sudden explosion. It must have been nearly ten seconds but felt like an eternity. It sounded at first like a duck quacking and then a motor sputtering.
The woman stared at her, dumbly at first, and then slowly grimaced, avoiding eye contact.
Grace was beyond mortified. At the same time – she had her answer. She felt infinitely lighter and infinitely better. Her whole ordeal this entire time had just been one massive fucking fart. Well, there was no hiding it now. The damage had been done. She just had to take it.
“’Scuse me. Thanks,” she muttered, as she entered the stall also avoiding eye contact.
She pretended to sit there in the stall until she heard the older woman leave after washing her hands.
God, honestly, what the fuck is wrong with my stomach? The fucking sounds it can make. Unreal. Welp. I’ll never see her again. She’s just some stranger.
Grace hurried to the front desk before her absence was noted.
The middle-aged woman was waiting there at the counter.
I fucking hate my life.
