I once held the position of youngest hotel concierge in the United States, stationed at the Embassy Suites Hotel in Times Square, NY.
I stood smiling in the lobby’s center. Greeting guests with my hands folded like so. I was the definition of professional.
I wore this beautiful red woman’s suit that got me featured in that year’s fashion edition of Forbes magazine. The blazer was conveniently sewn to the back of the shirt. Which guaranteed it would never be lost.
One afternoon during Tourist Season, I awoke from daily nap-time. The blazer was heartlessly cut from the shirt, ripped at the seams. It was gone. “Search every room twofold!” I begged the cleaning staff. My tiny hands shook in fear. Without the blazer, my professional persona was destroyed.
The blazer never surfaced. Forbes retracted my fashion article. I was disgracefully fired.
Security cameras revealed the perpetrator to be a man who resembled Mark Twain circa Huckleberry Finn. I search for the man to this day.
