I feel I stick out like a sore thumb here. I wish Dad wouldn’t take on these sorts of jobs. But I understand why he does. They pay well. And on the upside, at least I thought to wash my overalls last night. They’re nice and clean.
The hotel lobby is teeming with people; men in suits that probably cost more than I earn in a year, ladies dripping with diamonds and striding confidently in high heels. There are a few kids too. One of them runs straight into me. My tools scatter all over the marble floor.
‘Oh Gerald!’ scolds a woman dashing over.
‘You ok buddy?’ I say.
The child nods.
My mother would have battered me into next week for that. I hope his doesn’t.
The woman, who I presume to be his mother, scowls and snatches him away.
I gather up my tools. There’s heat in my cheeks. People are watching. Some are smirking. This really isn’t a place for the likes of me. Dad needs me though.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he says when he sees me.