The Breakfast

I used to have a very shy cat, it was painfully shy. With me she was fine but if any visitors came she would hide under the sofa and only come out two days later when she was completely sure the coast was clear. Occasionally when a girlfriend was over, I would try to tempt her out with a scrap of meat on the floor. Tiddles (I've changed the name to protect the innocent) had a sixth sense, she knew when we weren’t looking, in a flash, a blur of tortoise shell fur she would launch an ambush, grabbing the meat before returning to the dark sanctuary of her shelter. 

Hotel breakfasts remind me of Tiddles. Bleary eyed hotel guests emerge from the cover of their rooms to grab food before scuttling away into their lair again. Of course Tiddles didn’t stay and eat the meat in the hotel restaurant but the principle was the same, none of us want to be there, we hope no one will notice us and we try to get out unscathed as quickly as possible. I felt like this this morning, not really ready to face the world but being forced to if I wanted to feed my hangover. I sat bleary-eyed eating my ham and eggs hoping my colleague who was also staying in the hotel had decided to breakfast earlier or later.

What you don’t expect to see at a hotel breakfast is a friend of a friend who lives in the town that the hotel is in. Why would he need to stay in a hotel if his own flat is just two blocks away? But there was Pete as big and bold and brassy as ever, ordering his ham and eggs from the eggs station and then getting a plate load of rolls and cakes to be going on with.

‘Pete?’ I said and regretted it immediately.  

He looked over and saw me and for the first time since I’d known him he looked unsure of what to do next. A guilty looked spread across his face like he’d been caught red-handed.

‘What are you doing here?’ I said.

He shushed me and came to my table, putting his plate down and joining me.

‘Why are you staying here?’ I said again.

‘I’m not,’ he said barely audibly, ‘I’m just enjoying a free feed.’

I looked at him, my mouth moved but no words came out.

‘And actuallyi t’s your fault,’ he said. ‘Last time you were here you told me no one checks your room number when you have breakfast here. That thought stayed in my head, fermented and became a plan.’

‘You do it every day?’ I asked managing to find my voice.

‘No, only’ he waited while the egg chef put the plate of steaming eggs onto the table in front of him.

‘Enjoy your meal.’

‘Thank you, only on a Thursday, once a week, a free breakfast and,’ he slipped two rolls into his pocket, ‘a free lunch too!’

‘Don’t they say anything at reception?’ I asked barely believing his story.

‘Nope, I just say good morning and stroll on by.’

Part of me was in awe, I would never have the balls to do this, part in shock, the guy was a thief. 

‘But why?’ I said. I knew he had a good job, he didn’t want for anything.

‘Because I can,’ he shrugged. ‘A free feed is a free feed.’

‘It’s stealing,’ I said.

‘Who’s it hurting? It’s a victimless crime.’ He replied with egg dribbling down his chin.

‘Excuse me sir,’ the maître d was standing over us, looking at Pete. He was done for now I though.

‘You dropped this.’ He handed Pete his napkin. Pete nonchalantly put it back on his lap and continued eating, nodding his appreciation.

I got up to go, wishing my criminal friend a good day.

As I was checking out and paying the bill I noticed my usual rate had gone up.

‘I’m the victim.’ I said.

‘Sorry,’ the receptionist said.

‘Oh nothing,’ I shook my head, took my receipt and left.