Happy Times Bathhouse

Synopsis: A couple tries (and fails) to check into a romantic bathhouse. The well-meaning receptionist is likely to blame – seeing as they’re an octopus and have no idea what they’re doing.

“Welcome to Happy Times Bathhouse – where the temperatures are seasonal, the water is unbelievable, and the diseases are only slightly venereal. How can I help you today?”

I watch as my guests – a lady and a man – widen their eyes with what I can only assume is pure, unadulterated delight. Receptionist’s Weekly says the best way to break the ice is with a joke. I am absolutely killing this.

“Patrick? Where on Earth did you bring me-”

The lady is speaking to her partner. The comment is not directed at me, so I don’t reply. A great receptionist never rushes their guests or speaks out of turn.

“Are you really the receptionist here?” The man looks at me, and it makes each of my three hearts skip a beat. Guests! Real guests! Talking to me!

“I AM OVERJOYED TO HELP YOU WITH YOUR BOOKING.”

It is very rude to yell at guests. A great receptionist must never do this. But I can’t help myself. This is all too exciting.

“Don’t be rude,” the lady mutters to the man, nudging him in his side. He doesn’t reply to her. It is likely because he is absolutely enthralled by my world-class customer service.

He sighs before speaking again. “We booked the couple’s package. Two hours. With added hot stone massages.”

Every word makes my protective mucus tingle with joy. I must remain professional.

“Fantastic choice! I will get that sorted right away.”

I maintain eye contact with the man as two of my tentacles slam onto the keyboard in front of me. I’ve seen countless videos of receptionists using devices like this before. I never in my wildest dreams assumed I would get to do it myself. The click-clacking sounds the keys make is like music to my vibration-sensing statocysts.

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude,” the man starts, but stops when the lady pulls on his arm.

“Drop it, Patrick, it’s fine,” the lady says under her breath. He doesn’t listen.

“Are you sure you work here? I was under the impression that the receptionist would be more… human.”

Panic shoots through each of my eight limbs. I must keep it together. A great receptionist is never scared. It’s my job to make sure my guests are comfortable at all times.

“The bathhouse has plenty of amenities,” I say, waving one of my tentacles around to show off the space, multiple Post-It notes caught in my suction cups. “We have water for drinking and water for bathing. But don’t worry, they are not the same!”

The guests stare at me again. Likely due to the fact that I am blowing them away with my charm and professionalism.

“What? No. That’s not – I don’t need to know about that. I want to speak to someone else. Is your manager around?”

The lady frowns at the man. This is not acceptable. Great receptionists never make their guests frustrated. I must fix this.

“Allow me to sweeten the deal! We have a luxurious seafoam gel body mask that is very popular. I can add it to your session free of charge for being one of our most trusted, valued guests-”

“What? No. We’ve never been here before. We don’t need the seafoam whatever mask.” The man looks down at his partner, and even from across the reception desk, I can tell he is incredibly excited about my offer and how good of a job I am doing. “I’d just like to talk to your manager-”

“When have you been here before?” The lady’s voice is harsh and angry.

“Relaxation is an essential part of every guest’s visit!” I continue. “Here at Happy Times Bathhouse, we promise everyone leaves with a happy ending!”

“Patrick, what the hell?” The lady has turned her body so she’s fully facing the man. Using two of my other tentacles, I grab two robes from the nearby pile, leaving a trail of multiple suction-cup-shaped rings of mucous on the soft cotton fibres. I am sure they will not mind.

“Please take off your clothes and wear these robes so we can begin to pamper you,” I say, holding out the fabric.

“Babe, I haven’t been here I swear.” The man pleads, not listening to me or taking the robe. The lady grabs hers, face only slightly cringing when her fingers touch a mucus spot.

“The receptionist just said you’ve been here. Multiple times. So who did you come with? Did you get your happy ending?”

“Not this again,” the man says, massaging his forehead with his hand. “I promise, I’ve never been here before.”

“Our romance couples package is designed to intrigue and inspire. You will be pleasured in ways you didn’t even know possible while you are staying with us.” Based on how red their faces have become, I can tell my sales pitch is really getting them excited.

“Then why would they say that?” The lady crosses her arms across her chest.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the man starts. “Maybe because it’s a FUCKING OCTOPUS PRETENDING TO BE A RECEPTIONIST??” The man yells. He is clearly overrun with excitement about my work.

“Patrick. You apologize to them right now.” The lady looks over to me, and when the man doesn’t speak, she does for him. “I am so sorry about him. He didn’t mean that. You are doing a great job-”

“Great. So now you’re siding with the fucking cephalopod?”

“Don’t be such an asshole! You don’t know their story-”

“I don’t need to! It’s an octopus! The computer isn’t even on, it’s just making a mess-”

“Oh my God, you are so small-minded.” The lady turns and leaves. The man lets out an angry huff, glares at me, and follows after her.

Their robes lay dirty on the floor. There are Post-It notes everywhere. The computer is covered in a thick layer of goo.

It’s clear that my first interaction with real guests was a smashing success.