What was supposed to be a normal delivery run turned into the kind of story that lives forever in hotel locker rooms.
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Back when I worked at a hotel in Beverly Hills,
the guy who trained me to be a houseman for housekeeping—his name was William.
But everybody called him Willie.
Willie was from Guatemala, mid to late fifties, combed his hair to the side, little mustache. Pale skin. He looked like a barber from the 1940s—pressed uniform, always talking shit, always laughing.
Cool dude.
Willie loved telling me the hotel gossip.
So one day, I’m in the locker room. I’m about to head out when Willie walks in, eyes wide like he just saw a ghost.
He goes, “Roberto.”
I’m like, “What’s up?”
He says, “Bro… oh my God. If you knew what I just saw right now.”
I go, “What happened?”
He looks left, looks right—nobody else around. Then he goes, “You know the other Guatemalan guy? The bellman?”
I nod. “Yeah, what about him?”
Willie leans in, whispers, “You know the dry-cleaning lady downstairs? The heavyset Mexican one?”
I go, “Yeah?”
He goes, “Woo.”
I go, “What you mean woo?”
He starts laughing, shaking his head.
“Man, that bellman was having some fun with her.”
I go, “Fun how?”
He grins, “She was sucking the spirit outta his body, bro. Straight up.”
I’m like, “What?!”
He goes, “Yeah, man. She’s married, got kids and everything—and he don’t even got a girlfriend. But damn, he sure didn’t look lonely today.”
Now I’m wide awake. “What happened?”
Willie tells me, “Dispatch sent me to take some blankets and duvet covers up for one of the rooms for the ladies in housekeeping. So I go to the first floor to get them. They’re out, so I check the next floor. I open the door, and bam—I walk in on the show. She’s mid-suck, bro. Mid-suck! The only reason she saw me was because my radio went off. She turned, eyes locked with mine. I froze. Then she slammed the door in my face, but I was halfway in, so now we’re fighting the door—me pushing, her shoving—for like five seconds that felt like five minutes. Finally I get in, and all I see is that bellman tucking in his shirt while she’s running out the side door.”
I’m dying laughing.
Willie goes, “Man, I just had to tell you.”
So that night, before we left, we had to turn in our uniforms to dry cleaning. Guess who’s there?
Her.
Willie told me, don’t say a word. So I walk up quiet.
She looks at me—real calm, pretending.
Then she goes, “Did you hear anything about me?”
I say, “No, what do you mean?”
She says, “You know Willie likes to tell fake stories about people, right?”
I go, “Oh yeah, for sure.”
Next day, I see the bellman in the locker room. Me and him are cool, so I walk up like,
“Dude.”
He starts grinning while putting on his vest.
I go again, “Dude.”
He laughs, “What did Willie tell you? What did that cabrón say?”
I tell him straight, “He said you were getting some sucky action, bro. Said you were singing the Guatemalan national anthem.”
The guy bursts out laughing.
“Fucking Willie,” he says.
“So it’s true?”
He shrugs, still grinning. “It’s a possibility something happened.”
I go, “A possibility? Bro, Willie saw everything.”
He’s still laughing. “Just don’t tell nobody, alright?”
And that was that.
True story.
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