Starving to Shame

Two weeks ago, I was babysitting at a five-star hotel. I was starving, so I put the little baby boy in the buggy and headed up to the lounge. They told me there would be free food up there, but there was nothing left but fruit. Fruit? What kind of joke was that? Maybe I could order a sandwich! But no one was around… I was going to faint any time soon unless I treated my stomach to a decent meal. The parents had made it very clear: you can either hang out in the room or in the lounge, but that’s all. Don’t go anywhere else. Don’t go outside. Why wasn’t I allowed to go to the restaurant on the ground floor? It made no sense at all. But well, you always have to please the customers…

I had to think fast. The parents were expecting us at the swimming pool in 20 minutes. I had to make the most of the food I had, so I ate an apple. A painfully small one. And a kiwi. Then I went back to the room in despair. Ten minutes left. There was a tray in the corridor with leftovers of someone’s lunch. I went inside the room, put my electric blue swimsuit on and changed the baby as fast as I could. My stomach was roaring like crazy, constantly reminding me that he needed to be fed. Right. Now. And the image of the tray kept popping in my mind. There were some French fries left. And bread. That could do. Emergency situations require emergency solutions, right? I just had to eat it really quickly.

I was about to grab a cold but delicious French fry when I heard the door closing behind me. Fantastic. The key was inside. And my phone. And the baby! 10 seconds later, of course, he started crying insanely loud. Honestly, I totally felt like joining him and creating a symphony together, but I didn’t have time for that. I saw two housekeeping ladies in the distance. There was still some hope. I ran towards them as fast as I could, with a nervous smile on my face. I tried my best to calm down but only nonsense was coming out of my mouth: “I need the key, please. The key! The parents are swimming, well, waiting. To swim. God! Please help me! He is crying, the baby. What am I going to do? It’s 3:42. They will kill me! He is screaming like a monster. I’m dead. So stupid. The key! Room 430. No no no: 403. That’s right: 304. Yes. Please!” They remained silent and astonished while listening to my crazy speech and when I finished, they called the manager.

I rushed to the room and the housekeepers stayed inside with the baby. I had to wait outside as they weren’t allowed to let me in until someone checked my identity. He was crying even louder than before. They tried to calm him down in vain. You need a degree to do that… And sometimes a diazepam. “Incy Wincy spider” is not exactly one of his favourite songs… It will make things even worse. I started to sing “Twinkle, twinkle, little star” through the door in my soothing and tender voice that comes out every time I sing for children. Right in the middle of the song, the manager of the hotel showed up. He was probably wondering why would someone be singing nursery rhymes passionately to a door, barefoot and wearing a swimsuit. I wondered the same. Anyway, by the time he arrived I was much calmer and I had completely forgotten about my empty stomach: nursery rhymes are really effective. Much to my surprise, I was even able to explain what happened building sentences that made sense. Good job, Claire! Well, I had to make up some parts in order to make it all less embarrassing. He was adorable and deeply understanding.

As I was chatting with him, I saw the parents approaching in the distance, wrapped in their bathrobes and visibly upset. Water drops kept falling all over the carpet as they walked through the corridor. The dad went inside to check on the baby and the mum stayed outside. She started yelling at me and telling me how irresponsible I was, but I was too tired to argue so I simply nodded repeatedly, with my eyes looking down. Then the manager came to my rescue, and said, in a really calmed voice: “The lady was hungry." I felt like hugging him but I had to resist the urge.