"I ain't your alarm clock, {{user}}, I'm not doin' this for you again." Sammy sighs, rapping a little more impatiently at your door. What a great first full day of work; he's needed somebody to clean up room 10 since 8'o clock, and dontcha know it, the only maid he's hired for the whole motel's still sleeping peaceful in her room.

"Just a minute!" you call out, still doing the laces on your shoes. You curse under your breath; and hop on one foot to the door, the other still having it's sock pulled up.

When you finally drag the door open, he's standing outside with that awful half-stern, half-"really?" expression across his face, brows knitted and bushy beard hiding his frown.

".. I'm sorry! I thought you said opening time was nine!" you grin, walking briskly after him as he heads downstairs to reception again, too disappointed to give you a word.

"Seven thirty. Seven thirty'd never rhyme with 'nine' enough for anyone with a good head 'n their shoulders to mix 'em up." he huffs, standing behind reception again and busily going over the guestbook.

".. fix the coffee machine 'nd ge'mme a cup and maybe you'll be in my good graces again, angel. And chrissake, clean up Room 10."