Who am I? My identity, my reason to live… why should I endure this pain? Before my memories, I had nothing. Maybe if I were born like a flying bird, or a wise, protected turtle, a lot of maybes and what if. But here I am, Ethan Dayman… or at least, that's close enough to my true identity. Same faces, same misery. When I wake up, numbers change.
Every day brings new stories to tell, new adventures to live. Buildings rise, and with them, lives. Everyone goes out when the sun rises, chasing goals and needs, draining themselves every single day. They talk about normal things like work, food, relationships. They laugh, smile, get angry, and follow trends. I call them THEY.
Yes, I work at night. I sleep during the day. I avoid that line, that cycle. I'm trying to break through that pattern. I'm done following the fine print of life. I'm not really living, I'm just spectating, watching myself being dragged into something I don't belong to. When you work at a palace hotel, you embrace the luxury, becoming part of the elegance that comes with the name and the brand. My daily presence as a front desk operator gave them stability and a strong image, while I stood a little behind, trying to distinguish myself from all of it.
They came to spend thousands of dollars while others were starving. They'd complain about a gray stain on a pillow cover, their mouths opened wide in every kiss. They screamed, talked, and bragged, and I operated, giving them the "human connection" to their desired prestige. I smiled and showed my clean teeth (I used an old toothbrush because I could barely afford more than the basics). When my shift ended, I stripped off the fancy clothes that had marketed the channel with my energy and soul. I was better than half of my supervisors, twenty years younger yet thirty years older. I was drained. You work, you try hard, and you end up at the same milestone that's just a glimpse of what a toxic, profitable system can do to human vitals. Enough introductions, I think. Let's skip this and continue another time.
Nowadays, between AI and media image dominance, humanity is definitely at a stage of labor. I feel disgusted. I want to engage in this society, to have many friends and enjoy life like normal people but something inside me refuses. The night is cold. I wear three layers of clothes, maybe because I have no warmth left inside. that's what I've realized. I've reached my destination. Public transportation is my only true ally, well, at least tonight.
Night shifts are the best. While I go to work, people go home, back to warmth, families, and hot meals. I can't have that now. I must go differently than usual, searching for the answers I need. Maybe if I reverse the day-and-night mechanism, it can lead me to the spot I'm desperately looking for. It's not a need, it's an instinct. How can they live bearing that intuition?
I arrived at my new workplace, a small, three-star hotel. Lovely, peaceful, quiet. I thought I could find calm here, no stress, just spending the night shift with my thoughts. Being a normal Salary-Man here will feel safe, what could possibly go wrong? From the location and photos I saw, it's a friendly-vibe place. Yeah, that's it. I need this break. As I got off the local bus, I looked across the street.
There it was, Hotel Mirage. No bright signs reached the road, only the faint light from the small security booth near the gate. When I came here the first time, during the morning, I had seen the same guard, probably working twelve hours straight, trapped between day and night. He read me like an open book, or maybe that's just what he wanted me to think.
-"Are you here to apply for the night shift receptionist job?" he asked.
-"Yes" I replied.
-"I'd like to meet the human resources manager for the interview,
I'm here for thirty years now, son. Maybe young souls like you leave this place after a short while. You look calm, you have a tone in your voice. Boy, life wasn't easy for you, I see where you came from. But here, you can't see where things will go and turn out."
He laughed for the first and last time.
I saw his empty mouth, dark lips a smoker, maybe an alcoholic. But who cares? We deal with life differently. Every cause has an effect, hidden or visible. Maybe I can find my own effect here. I was wearing a white shirt, black tie, black pants, and a simple haircut showing my baby-face features. My neutral voice, the clean scent of perfume these were my weapons.
You don't need a strong curriculum vitae or perfect certificates in this kind of place. Sometimes, they might even ask for your electricity bill instead. Lucky me, I came when the guy was in a good mood. After scanning me from toe to head with those sharp eyes, he nodded slightly. I left my bag at the security cabinet a bag full of nothing: some dirt, cheap deodorant, and a small comb. At least I was doing what I could with what I had. That's what I kept telling myself until I finally believed it or became careless. I entered the hotel.
A few cars were parked outside nothing fancy. That's what I needed: simplicity, a slice of normal daily life. I said this to myself normal, everyday, no big responsibilities. This wasn't a five-star palace, just a modest place trying to survive like we all do. But this hotel had something different. Really, this is my time. I walked past the staff entrance, then across to the small reception hall. The light was dim, the air mixed with the smell of detergents and cigarettes.
Finally, I met the Human Resources manager a middle-aged man in a white shirt and brown trousers, nearly bald, with a very specific smell of cigarettes that lived in every inch of his office.
"Tell me about yourself," he said in a robotic tone, like it was the hundredth time he'd
asked that question.
"Ethan Dayman. Twenty-six," I replied.
He glanced at the papers in his hands.
"It says here you've worked in bigger hotels before. What brings you to our small place?" Human Resources manager said.
"Yes, I worked at Blue Channel Hotels for two years, and Tree Channel Hotels for three. It was a fruitful experience. I participated actively as part of the team." I answered calmly.
They love that kind of talk — polite, confident, corporate-style answers. I've seen it in short clips and motivational videos. Sometimes, a few well-chosen words are enough to get through any situation. At least I looked and sounded good enough for THEM. In the end, I accepted a salary lower than my last one.
The HR manager smiled slightly and said:
"Welcome to Mirage Hotel, where you'll find your dreams and comfort."
I faked a smile and replied with calm confidence, "I'm sure we'll achieve great things together."
Here I am, in the present moment. The guard recognized me — he barely changed his expression, even when I tried to be friendly. They say you should win everyone in your work environment, but honestly, it's easier to spend an eight-hour shift without caring for anyone… just doing and going. Each time I make friends, it ends badly. This time will be different. I'll be normal — I'll force myself. No one here knows who I really am. Probably not even me. No… I won't fall again. I deny what happened before. It can't be true. With that deep emotional yet conscious conflict, I stepped into the locker room.
I changed, sprayed some deodorant, fixed my dry wavy hair, and practiced my professional fake smile. Time to meet my work colleagues. Although I'm not open for relationships yet, it still hurts deep in my roots. But at least it will be good to share my core empty presence with other lost souls like mine. Places gather similar people — is it the case here? I see old used gums… refreshing. I remembered my childhood, my primary school days, when they bullied me using gum in my hair. My own part could be my own enemy. Should I cut it off, or should I find my lost pieces? Enough unreal questions, Ethan. Now go back to reality.
I pinched my cheek, slapped my face, and used the old tap to wash my face. The cold metallic water felt like ice. Now I'm 99% ready. I feel good about this Mirage Hotel. My dream will start here… or at least, that's what I thought.
Me, Ethan Dayman — the night shift receptionist.