It was one of those endless graveyard shifts at the Westin. The kind of night where the hotel is more of a ghost ship than a bustling space — quiet and still. Most of the guests had checked in hours ago, leaving me alone in the bell closet, sorting luggage, waiting for the occasional request to come through.
Then, out of nowhere, the radio crackled to life.
"Base to 940. Check in white ticket, 56789 for room 3242."
I grabbed the ticket, confirming the details as I started moving toward the storage room to gather the luggage. But then something stopped me in my tracks.
There, sitting in the corner of the room, was a large wooden box. It was oddly placed, like it had been shoved aside in a hurry. There was a thick black marker scrawled across the box:
LIVE ANIMAL — DO NOT TOUCH.
Live Animal? What the hell could that be? A monkey? A snake? Maybe a pair of parrots? I had no idea, but whatever it was, my curiosity was piqued.
The box sat there, practically taunting me. I stood there for a few seconds, frozen, wrestling with the thought of just leaving it be. But it wasn't just the box that had me intrigued — it was the fact that there was something alive in there, and I needed to know what it was.
I grabbed the box, placed it on the luggage cart, and began the long trek to room 3242.
The entire way up, I kept glancing nervously at the box, half-expecting it to start moving on its own. My heart was pounding.
Room 3242
When I finally arrived at the door, the guest opened it, cool as a cucumber. Without missing a beat, they pointed at the box and said, "Ah, yes, the gator. Thank you for bringing him up."
I just blinked, staring at them in disbelief. "The... gator?"
They nodded, completely calm. "It's an alligator. He's harmless, don't worry."
Harmless? Alligator? In a hotel? I was still trying to process the surreal moment.
The guest took the box almost casually, as though this was something they did every day. "I'm just going to slip him into the bathtub for a while," the guest said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Gators like water."
I handed over the box, but not without getting a $20 bill slipped into my hand. The guest smiled, like I'd just done the most regular thing in the world.
I walked away shaking my head. An alligator. In a wooden box. In a Westin hotel. And I'd just delivered it like it was room service.
Nobody Believed Me
When I told the morning crew about it, they looked at me like I was nuts. "An alligator?" they laughed. "Sure, buddy. Whatever you say."
But Elmo, the senior bellman who'd been there since 1947, just gave me a knowing look, sipping his morning coffee. "You'll see crazier things on the graveyard shift," he muttered.
I didn't doubt it. At the Westin, you never knew what would happen next.