I would like to begin this by saying, sorry. You, presumably either the reader or the entity that is currently reading this over my shoulder (I can see you, ya know?), are going to be subject to a kind of info-hazard by reading this. The facts are clear on this, I have researched them quite thoroughly, that even if you only see a singular pixel from this page, you will sign some kind of contract with an entity you cannot see. You probably won't die from it, but I am no doctor so who really knows? Anyway, I'm gonna assume that you clicked on this to read a story, so to make up for the mind-virus I have just given you, I'll tell you one. My name is probably Ricky, for the past few years I have been working in Arizona at a job I never intended to stay at for more than a few weeks, but here we are. Legally speaking, Ricky is pretty much only qualified to work at "fine" establishments like this, but the man occupying the identity is worth far more than a motel labourer. I say motel labourer because I pretty much do everything around here, I've only seen a handful of workers other than myself here, and they don't last very long. I'd like to say I outlasted them due to my "superiority", but really I am just too stupid and desperate to leave.
You all must understand how a dead-end job turns into quicksand fast if you're lazy about moving on with your life, a week turns to a month and so on. That's not really why I stayed, I kind of have no choice. You see, the little area of the desert I occupy is pretty much the only place in freedomland I could find refuge, isolated enough to keep "them" off of my tail but populated just enough to find low profile employment. I work at a motel, it sucks. The rooms are kind of gross, the vending machine is almost always out of order, and the place is severely understaffed. If you come in at the dead of night, you'll find an empty counter, but if you ring the little silver bell, a very groggy looking man will come to yur assistance in just a few moments. I've worked out an arrangement with the owners of this place, I work here under the table for below minimun wage, and I get to sleep in the maintenance closet just a few steps away from the front desk. This means I have to sleep weird hours and take a chance everytime I take a quick shower just so I don't miss out on a potential customer.
Enough about me, I am sure you're all here for a story. I figured I'd start from my very first story at this place, my day one experience. I had gone from rehab to fleeing to Arizona for..reasons, and I needed capital quick. While I was staying here, I saw an ad up for "help wanted, literally any help WE DONT CARE!" so I asked the woman at the front desk about it. It's all kind of a blur between that moment and my first actual shift, I suspect heavy drinking to be responsible, so all I can really say about the hiring process is that it was quick, and they didn't ask any questions. It's almost like they knew what kind of employment I was looking for, because the "contract" they handed me didn't even require an offical signature, it just needed an X marking. It was kinda vague, but layed out that I would be payed traditionaly through a check, which they told me was only in there for legal reasons, I could accept cash if i preferred, and it also layed out some guidelines. Shifts are as needed, breaks must be short but have an even clockout time (10 minutes, 15, never 6 or 9 minutes), and that I could sleep whenever but had to be able to wake up if a new customer came in. It really only said that, I never even met the owners, just dealt with the woman I had met at the counter. She was my landline for any questions, and her number was indexed on the counter phone if I ever needed anything. It would take me a while to find out that there was no counter phone with an index, just an old shitty handset with a numpad built into the handle. I figured that I would figure it out. My first "weird" encounter came with a tenant that was booked before my first day.
I had already used that day, it hadn't even been a full two weeks out of rehab before I got started again. Some guy named "GlitterShy", which I gleamed from his shirt saying "I am Glittershy, address me as such", was nearby the hotel, acting very suspiciously. I figured he would be the right guy, I didn't know how right I would be. After the casual druggie introduction convo, he brought me to his van. It was a white work van, with tinted windows. He opened it up and it blew me back a little.
"How?" I asked
"I have a lot of connections, it's a good thing right? You can get whatever, prices are marked on each bin"
"No I...I meant how the hell is there so much room in this one van?"
It may seem like a dumb question to have asked, but seriously this was like doctor who level shit. The van seemed like it was as big as a schoolbus on the inside. I had to slap myself to make sure I was still awake. I looked around the van, and saw it was a normal sized work van, a bit bigger than a modern SUV, but without any other modifications. The driver cab was walled off from the back, which I could see clearly since only the back windows were tinted. When I went back, it was a normal sized van interior, gutted with only a duffle bag inside.
"Look, I can tell you need something, here's a hit, it's on the house. You know how to find me if it's satisfactory, thanks John"
"My name isn't....oh sorry yeah thanks."
I cut myself off before saying something stupid, he got into his van and sped off. The "hit" he gave me would've been enough to overdose a small middle school. Now I know what you must be thinking, "hey, shouldn't you like, not take a huge amount of drugs given to you by a stranger who might possibly know the cartel and some magic?", and to that I would say, "Hey, shut up, free is free". I can say with some confidence that I would never do such a thing now, but back then I was fiending. At the start of my first shift, I took some. Just enough to take the edge off.