Sextus Rollo Forsyte had his trouble with the bottle, but nothing out of a bottle ever produced such a hotel as the Mahoney-Plaza: only 260 rooms ... only two guests to a room ... but accommodating 5200 guests—all at the same time!... Floor please?
allid woman about his own age, naked except for a pillow which she hugged fiercely to her navel. Her bleached hair was a frayed bird's-nest.
In bed, decently clad in a pair of blue and white striped pajamas, was a rather distinguished, gray-haired gentleman of about fifty, leaning on one elbow and watching the woman with an expression of mild astonishment and interest. To Sextus' practiced eye, the man was guilty of nothing.
The house detective arrived at that moment, but Sextus dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He went in alone.
"I'm the manager, madam," he assured her. He noted that despite her excited wails, her eyes drooped half shut. A bottle of sleeping pills on the table was uncapped.
"Thizz man, thizz man, thizz man!" she kept repeating and pointing her elbow at the bed. The man in question raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
"Damndest sensation I ever felt," he said. "I'm Johnathan P. Turner, attorney. Before I tell you my story, please check with the desk
Went too far with the foul language for me. Had to bail out.
A funny story about the new manager of a strange hotel that has 260 rooms in 20 dimensions. It's a big hotel. That's about all of the science in the fiction. The story is mainly slapstick.
A short story about a small hotel that presents unusual challenges for the staff and management. Nothing deep, but OK if you have a few spare minutes.
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