Hotel for Phobics - A short story written by Berni Albrighton

 

                                                        

“Simon, we have had a complaint from Mr and Mrs Braithwaite room 11”

“Okay”

“Upon booking with us Mrs Braithwaite was very specific about her aversion to eggs.     Do you remember ?”

“Yes”

“Why then did you eat an egg prior to serving them dinner? Not only did you eat one but you leant over Mrs Braithwaite and there was egg yolk on your mouth and your breath smelt of eggs.”

“I didn’t realise.”

“The incident led her to have a panic attack. She lost control of her bladder and now we have a demand for a full refund of her stay and a dry cleaning bill. Having just been awarded the top hotel to stay for people with Simple Phobias, we cannot afford bad feedback or bad publicity. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I thought she was pulling a fast one, trying to get special treatment. When I checked them in, Mr Braithwaite had a distinct sulphur like smell about him. How could Mrs Braithwaite be in close proximity to him if she had an aversion to all things egg? Honestly he stank like a freshly boiled one.”

“It is not our place to comment on Mr Braithwaites’ smell or to question a guests honesty when they declare a phobia in the booking process. Do you understand?”

“I do, but, the first morning in the dining room, the Taylors, room 9, were having their usual eggy soldiers, I noticed Mrs Braithwaite didn’t bat an eyelid. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“No, because we sat Mr and Mrs Braithwaite by the open conservatory door with the big Jasmine outside it. She would need an acute sense of smell and be able to turn her head 270 degrees to witness the Taylors eating their eggy soldiers.”

“What about Mr Harrison who stayed in room 11 last week? He was supposed to have an aversion to door handles, so we covered them all in custom made pouches. I saw him rubbing himself against a door handle. What was that about?”

“Mr Harrisons’ phobia was to the feel of the handle in his hand. I have no idea what effect it has on other parts of his body.” 

“Margaret, sorry, Mrs Jones, I have slight pistanthrophobia which makes me somewhat distrustful of people. I often suspect they are lying. In hindsight perhaps this job is not for me. I will leave immediately, today.”

Once alone, Margaret stepped out from behind her perspex screen, put on the disposable apron, gloves and mask and got to work with the sanitised wipes. 

She was sure Simons spittle was on the screen. 

Quenliskanphobia was not the best phobia to have when working in the hotel trade. 

Her distress at seeing other peoples spit and even glimpsing their tongues as they spoke  was definitely getting worse. 

She got out a piece of paper and began to write a new staff policy: 

‘From Monday, masks to be worn at all times.’

She sensed a sudden increase in Masklophobia amongst staff.