Chapter 1: Denied at the Front Desk

During Memorial Day weekend, I booked a hotel online with a great Memorial Day discount.

Barbecue smoke, distant fireworks—you could almost taste summer in the air. But all I wanted was a couple of days of peace. I’d scored a sweet deal on a hotel room—couldn’t believe my luck. Memorial Day rates are usually brutal, but sometimes you get a break if you look hard enough.

I walked up to the front desk, suitcase in hand, feeling that travel buzz, only for the receptionist to tell me there was no reservation under my name. My heart did a little stutter-step.

The lobby was alive—families lugging coolers, kids running around in floaties, laughter bouncing off the walls. I stood there, suitcase gripped tight, my name looping in my mind like a broken record. Maybe if I said it enough, it would magically appear in their system. But the receptionist just stared through me, her nails click-clacking on the keyboard like she was spelling out my doom. I could feel my frustration bubbling up.

I pulled out my phone and showed the receptionist my confirmation. She just smirked—didn’t even glance at the screen. "If you can’t afford it, why pretend you’re on vacation? Don’t you know hotel prices go through the roof during the holidays?" she added, her tone dripping with fake concern.

Figures. My cheeks burned. I could see the couple behind me shifting uncomfortably, pretending not to notice. It was the kind of moment that makes you want to melt into the carpet and disappear.

I tried to hold it together, but then she turned to her computer and, without another word, canceled my reservation on the spot.

She didn’t even blink. Her finger hovered over the mouse, and with a single click, my weekend plans vanished. The screen flashed red. I gripped my phone tighter, knuckles white, mind racing—was this really happening?

If that’s how she wanted to play, fine. I immediately pulled out my work badge, trying to steady my breathing.

"Corporate audit!" I declared, channeling every ounce of authority I could fake.

My badge—thank God I’d left it in my purse. I flashed it at her, the lanyard swinging wildly. Fake it till you make it, right? My voice came out steadier than I felt. Sometimes you just have to bluff and hope it works.

She sighed, barely glancing at my badge. "I already told you, there’s no such booking in our system."

She rolled her eyes, lips pursed. She wasn’t fooled, but at least I had her attention now.

She huffed, annoyed. "Look, if you want a room now, it’s $229 a night."

She tapped her acrylics against the counter, like she had a million better things to do. Yeah, right. Like I hadn’t heard that before. I could feel other guests glancing over, curiosity prickling the air.

I kept telling myself: I did everything right. Double-checked dates, saved the confirmation email. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I kept telling myself: I did everything right. Double-checked dates, saved the confirmation email. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Here we go again. It felt like déjà vu, except now my patience was running thin. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to keep my voice even. The lobby smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and desperation.

I held out my phone and opened the booking page, my thumb trembling slightly.

"Look, I really do have a confirmation here. Maybe there’s some glitch in your system?" I said, my voice half-pleading.

My screen was bright with the booking app. I held it up, hoping the glow would lend me some authority. The time stamped on the reservation mocked me. Great. Just great.

She barely glanced at my screen, then scoffed. "What sketchy website did you book through? We’ve never worked with those guys."

She said it loud enough for the people behind me to hear. I could feel their eyes burning holes in my back, and my face went hot all over again.

Oh, so now it’s a sketchy site?

It was a national travel aggregator. Not some back-alley Craigslist deal. Unbelievable. I took a breath, trying to keep my cool. I wasn’t about to let her steamroll me.

I let out a frustrated sigh and asked the receptionist to check the system again, my annoyance barely contained.

"Look, can you just try again? Or get a manager or something?" I said, my words tumbling out a little faster, a little sharper.

I tried to sound reasonable, but my voice was starting to crack. Come on, pull it together, I thought. People started shuffling their feet, the line growing longer.

She glared at me, her patience clearly running out.

She didn’t say anything, just kept clicking her mouse. The silence between us stretched, awkward and tense.

Her jaw clenched, and I saw her eyes dart to the clock. Probably counting down the minutes till her shift ended.

Finally, she looked up. "Alright."

Her tone was so abrupt, I almost missed it. Was she finally going to help?

Maybe I was finally getting my room.

Relief washed over me. Maybe this nightmare was finally ending. About time, I thought. My shoulders sagged, and I let myself hope.

I let out a sigh of relief—hotel rooms during Memorial Day are hard to come by. Lucky break, right?

I could almost picture myself flopping onto a crisp white bed, flipping on the TV, maybe even catching a ballgame. Finally, I could relax. The tension in my chest loosened just a little.

I clicked on my booking, holding my breath, wanting the front desk to verify it.

I refreshed the screen, waiting for that green checkmark to pop up. Instead, my heart sank. Seriously?

No way. But after refreshing, I was stunned.

Reservation canceled. There it was, plain as day.

So when she said "alright," she meant she’d canceled my order. Just like that.

My jaw dropped. I stared at the screen, not believing what I was seeing. This couldn’t be happening. The little gray text, cold as ice, cut right through me. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

My hands shook as I tried to process it. I was furious. My hands trembled, my pulse racing. The room seemed to tilt. I wanted to yell, but the words stuck in my throat.