Wakefield

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  “In some old magazine or newspaper I recollect a story, told as truth, of a man—let us call him Wakefield—who absented himself for a long time from his wife. The fact, thus abstractedly stated, is not very uncommon, nor, without a proper distinction of circumstances, to be condemned either as naughty or nonsensical. Howbeit, this, though far from the most aggravated, is perhaps the strangest instance on record of marital delinquency, and, moreover, as remarkable a freak as may be found in the whole list of human oddities. The wedded couple lived in London. The man, under pretense of going a journey, took lodgings in the next street to his own house, and there, unheard of by his wife or friends and without the shadow of a reason for such self-banishment, dwelt upward of twenty years. During that period he beheld his home every day, and frequently the forlorn Mrs. Wakefield. And after so great a gap in his matrimonial felicity—when his death was reckoned certain, his estate settled...

Eye Contact



Every day at the hotel, I meet at least a dozen people (sometimes as many as 30) for the very first time. Sure, I’ll see some familiar faces in the mix, some repeat customers, and am able to call few by name but for the most part, most people I meet are complete and total strangers. Most are driving the corridor from Ontario or Ohio to Florida, or the reverse. This time of year, the snowbirds are migrating south. 

For the most part, people are pleasant to meet but there are some who are up to no good. The pot-heads announce their presence by smell before they walk through the door. The gangstas are quick about business, scooping up their key and out the door before the pen hits the countertop. Few will check in then check out a couple hours later. “No refunds, not sorry!”


One recent meeting stands out. A young lady came into the hotel, her face touched up with makeup just enough to be presentable. She seem to be a little rushed and would not make eye contact. As I worked on her registration, I happened to glance up to notice a tear running down her face. The rest of her expression gave no clue as to what she was feeling inside. But that one tear became two tears, then a small stream of tears. Still, neither her face or her body language betrayed what she might’ve been experiencing. I just quietly produced a box of tissues and let her know that if she needed anything to please contact the front desk. I also assured her that someone would be present all night long if she needed anything. She weekly smiled, thanked me, took her key and went to find her room. 


Everyone is going through something. Sometimes all it takes is eye contact that tells much more about a person than meets the eye. Whether it be two strangers meeting for the very first time or two friends that haven’t seen each other in years, that one glance can deeply communicate.

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