PDon11
02/05/07, 07:24 PM
It's not lyrics or poetry but I thought this might go here.
I have to write a paper that sets a mood. It's for a writing class and this is what I've got so far.
I walk into the hotel lobby, and it’s packed like a can of sardines. I look to my right and see a young couple. They must be newlyweds on their honeymoon. They’re fighting, but I try not to listen; all I hear are the words “reservations” and “moron”. “Congratulations on the marriage” I think to myself, “hope the divorce goes well”. I try and make my way to a black leather chair in the back of the room. I say, “excuse me” over and over again while trying not to bump into people. I get looks of frustration and contempt; you’d think I just told them that I murdered their mother. I finally arrive at the black leather couch and have a seat. I pick up a magazine on a table next to the couch. It’s People, or Star, or Us Weekly, or The Inquirer, or one of the other waste of paper magazines. I peak inside it and see that Madonna gets to keep her “adopted” baby; I can finally sleep at night. I became tired of looking at fascinating pictures of pseudo-celebrities doing absolutely nothing, so I put the magazine down. I scope out the construction of the lobby. The whole thing is a dark green marble. There’s columns placed over the place. I assume they’re for show and serve no purpose to the support of the building. The ceilings are high and there’s a chandelier dangling over the swarm of people trying to get a room. The chandelier was a stylish new wave or art deco, I’m not quite sure nor do I really care. I then see a little boy running around. He has to be about nine or ten. He’s wearing a Spongebob shirt with Velcro sneakers and a dumb look on his face. He’s jumping up and down on people’s luggage and ravaging throughout the lobby. His parents are nowhere in sight. I see people being terrorized by this kid. They completely ignore him. There faces are washed with indifference as if he’ll go away if they ignore him. “He’s a child, not a bee,” I think to myself, “tell him to get lost.” People kept looking around to see if someone would come get their kid. A hotel employee with what looks like a fedora on his head tried to get him to come to the help desk so they could page his parents. He curled up in a ball a started screaming. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more nervous bellhop, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bellhop period. I thought they only existed in movies. After about ten minutes of this kid in the fetal position, a man and a woman frantically run into the lobby. The woman is tall and skinny. She has a curly hair doo that looks like some bad 80’s sitcom mom. I don’t know what made me laugh more, her visor or her fanny pack. She had a frenzied look on her face. The man with her is short and stocky. He’s wearing socks that go up to his knees and shorts that go up to his chest. He’s bald and tries to cover it up unsuccessfully with a comb over. Unlike the woman, this man has a look of anger. I assess their dispositions and assume they’re the parents of the rampaging adolescent. Surely enough, the man forcefully grabs the child by the arm and mutters words that I can’t make out. The father’s face is bright red from what I assume to be a combination of anger and embarrassment. He shoves his finger in the boy’s face and drags him out of the lobby. I wonder if they’re going to have enough money for college and therapist bills. My attention is then diverted to my ringing cell phone. I answer and the voice on the other end says, “Everything’s been arranged”. I stand up from the black leather couch and make my way over to the elevator.
To anyone who read it, lame or decent?
I have to write a paper that sets a mood. It's for a writing class and this is what I've got so far.
I walk into the hotel lobby, and it’s packed like a can of sardines. I look to my right and see a young couple. They must be newlyweds on their honeymoon. They’re fighting, but I try not to listen; all I hear are the words “reservations” and “moron”. “Congratulations on the marriage” I think to myself, “hope the divorce goes well”. I try and make my way to a black leather chair in the back of the room. I say, “excuse me” over and over again while trying not to bump into people. I get looks of frustration and contempt; you’d think I just told them that I murdered their mother. I finally arrive at the black leather couch and have a seat. I pick up a magazine on a table next to the couch. It’s People, or Star, or Us Weekly, or The Inquirer, or one of the other waste of paper magazines. I peak inside it and see that Madonna gets to keep her “adopted” baby; I can finally sleep at night. I became tired of looking at fascinating pictures of pseudo-celebrities doing absolutely nothing, so I put the magazine down. I scope out the construction of the lobby. The whole thing is a dark green marble. There’s columns placed over the place. I assume they’re for show and serve no purpose to the support of the building. The ceilings are high and there’s a chandelier dangling over the swarm of people trying to get a room. The chandelier was a stylish new wave or art deco, I’m not quite sure nor do I really care. I then see a little boy running around. He has to be about nine or ten. He’s wearing a Spongebob shirt with Velcro sneakers and a dumb look on his face. He’s jumping up and down on people’s luggage and ravaging throughout the lobby. His parents are nowhere in sight. I see people being terrorized by this kid. They completely ignore him. There faces are washed with indifference as if he’ll go away if they ignore him. “He’s a child, not a bee,” I think to myself, “tell him to get lost.” People kept looking around to see if someone would come get their kid. A hotel employee with what looks like a fedora on his head tried to get him to come to the help desk so they could page his parents. He curled up in a ball a started screaming. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more nervous bellhop, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bellhop period. I thought they only existed in movies. After about ten minutes of this kid in the fetal position, a man and a woman frantically run into the lobby. The woman is tall and skinny. She has a curly hair doo that looks like some bad 80’s sitcom mom. I don’t know what made me laugh more, her visor or her fanny pack. She had a frenzied look on her face. The man with her is short and stocky. He’s wearing socks that go up to his knees and shorts that go up to his chest. He’s bald and tries to cover it up unsuccessfully with a comb over. Unlike the woman, this man has a look of anger. I assess their dispositions and assume they’re the parents of the rampaging adolescent. Surely enough, the man forcefully grabs the child by the arm and mutters words that I can’t make out. The father’s face is bright red from what I assume to be a combination of anger and embarrassment. He shoves his finger in the boy’s face and drags him out of the lobby. I wonder if they’re going to have enough money for college and therapist bills. My attention is then diverted to my ringing cell phone. I answer and the voice on the other end says, “Everything’s been arranged”. I stand up from the black leather couch and make my way over to the elevator.
To anyone who read it, lame or decent?