Some happenings at the #paranormalhotel are too complex for tweets of 140 characters, and I’m not a fan of twitter tales that run over the course of multiple tweets, so I’m sharing one mini-story from my recent run of back-to-back graveyard shifts here.

On a recent Tuesday night, a middle-aged woman, wearing rhinestone-studded skinny jeans and a tiger-print halter top, came in and rented a room. She was with a bulky, slow-moving man who never looked up from his cell as she and I conducted our business. After I gave her two keys, she batted at her companion’s phone, hooked her arm through his, and tugged him toward the elevator.

A couple of minutes later, my desk phone rang. The couple was not satisfied with the room I’d given them. Apparently it was very important to them to have a microwave and a mini-fridge. I I explained I’d given them the last smoking room I had. They decided to get a refund and try…