Not Gonna Lie, We Want To See This Cake

I work at a 125-room business hotel. We have contracts with a variety of construction companies for discounted room rates, and because I always work the third shift, I’m usually the one checking these guys in. I’ve gotten to know a lot of them really well, and we’ve got a good bond. I took a week off and three of them went to my manager concerned that I’d quit.

One of these guys is some kind of engineer in his sixties. If you’re from the upper Midwest, you’re familiar with the type: rangy, windburnt, a couple of sad whisps of grey hair. He grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere, stolid, friendly, and not super expressive.

He always checked in on Mondays, and at first, he irritated me because he always paid with cash for his $600 stay, but I warmed up to the old guy. He would always take a smoke outside with my coworker when she was there and sometimes offered me a cigarette even though he knew I didn’t smoke.

Once, he brought up a bottle of some Canadian whiskey to the desk and asked if I’d like it. I love whiskey, so I took it, and we got started talking, first about how you absolutely need the egg white in whiskey sours, then about other liquor preferences.

Me: “Well, look. If I wanna get drunk now, vodka. But if I wanna enjoy my drink? Old fashioned, whiskey sour, or something fruity. I love fruity drinks.”

He laughed, cleared his throat, and said:

Guest: “Hey, speaking of fruity. Uh. Can I ask you something?”

At the time, I had neon purple hair, with my fingernails painted to match, and large rainbow earrings. So, I braced myself for an extremely awkward question about my sexuality.

Me: “What’s up, man?”

Guest: “Well…” *Cough.* “…you see. My nephew, he’s twenty, about your age, he, uh. Well. He just came out to the family.”

I nodded, prompting him to keep talking.

Guest: “And, uh, well. I… look, I love the kid. Is there anything that you guys… that I should, yunno. Do for him?”

I cocked my head.

Me: “Whaddaya mean?”

Guest: “Well, I mean, you, y’know, you guys, uh. Should I, say anything to him?”

Me: “I mean, I doubt you’ll get him to change his mind—”

Guest: *Face flushing.* “No, no, not like that. Like. Is there a card? I was thinking I’d maybe bake the kid a cake?”

Me: “Bake… him… a cake?”

Guest: “Yeah, a cake. With, ah. With rainbow icing. And on the top, I’d write “Uncle [His Name] Loves You” or something, so he knows I love him no matter what. Something like that?”

Me: “I… I’m not sure the cake is necessary. Just keep… keep treating him like you always have, okay?”

Guest: “No card?”

Me: “No, dude.”

Guest: “Oh.”

He paused and stared at our shelf of Doritos.

Guest: “I’ve always made fun of him for not having a girlfriend. Can I start making fun of him for not having a boyfriend?”

Me: “You absolutely can.”

Guest: “Cool. Cool. You know, he’s about your age. Nice kid. Maybe I could—”

Me: “Are you trying to set me up with your nephew?”

Guest: “I… well. Aren’t you single?”

Me: “Yes, very recently.”

Guest: “How long were you two together?”

Me: “Long enough to get engaged.”

Guest: “Oh.”

Me: “Yeah… did you need to talk about anything else?”

Guest: “Nah, no. Thanks, buddy, enjoy the whiskey.”

He left, and I went into the office and laughed. To this day that’s one of my favorite guest interactions.