The Drawer
Mick has found his way to a hotel. A capsule hotel…
The belly was full, at least. That spicy pork soup had a kick like a mule, but it sat heavy and warm. Now, sleep.
The sign outside said HOTEL ZEN: SLEEP IN THE CLOUDS. Mick liked the sound of that. He pictured a duvet. A thick one. Maybe a pillow that didn't fight back.
He slapped his credit chip on the reception desk. The woman behind it didn’t have a face, just a smooth black visor where her features should be.
“One room,” Mick said. “En-suite. And a window, if you’ve got one facing away from that flashing billboard. It’s giving me a migraine.”
“Unit 409,” the visor said. Her voice came out of a speaker on the desk. “Upper deck.”
“Upper deck? Sounds fancy. Like a ship.”
He took the keycard. The lift shot up so fast his stomach stayed on the ground floor. The corridor smelled of recycled air and lemon disinfectant. It was quiet. Too quiet.
“405... 407... 409.”
He stopped. There was no door.
There was a wall of white plastic honeycombs. Little squares, stacked three high. Number 409 was a hole in the wall, about waist height.
“You’re joking,” Mick said to the corridor.
He looked at the keycard, then back at the hole. It wasn't a room. It was a microwave for people.
“Where’s the bed?”
He peered inside. There was a mattress on the floor of the tube. A screen was embedded in the ceiling. A control panel with too many buttons sat by the pillow.
“It’s a drawer,” Mick whispered. “I’ve paid fifty credits to sleep in a cutlery drawer.”
He looked around for someone to complain to, but there was only a cleaning drone humming quietly to itself by the skirting board.
“How do I even get in?”
He tried putting a leg up. It was like climbing into a washing machine. He shimmied, grunting, dragging his bag after him. He lay on his back. The ceiling was three inches from his nose.
“Claustrophobia city,” he muttered.
He tried to turn onto his side and banged his elbow on the wall. A hollow thud echoed down the plastic tube.
“Ouch. Bugger.”
From the pod below him, a muffled voice shouted up.
“Oi! Keep it down! Some of us are plugged in!”
Mick stared at the ceiling screen. It flickered to life. WELCOME, GUEST 409. WOULD YOU LIKE A LULLABY?
“I’d like a pint,” Mick said to the ceiling. “And a room where I can stand up and put me trousers on.”
The screen blinked. PLAYING: OCEAN SOUNDS.
“Great,” Mick sighed, staring at the white plastic. “Drowned in a drawer. Brilliant.”