“Hi, this is room 218. Can I have a few more pillows sent up?”
“Why? Were the pillows missing?”
“What? No, no. I’d just like a few more pillows.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why?’”
“I mean what the hell, man? No one needs that many damn pillows.”
“Maybe I do.”
“And maybe you’re a jackass.”
“That’s no way to talk to a paying customer.”
“I’ll… It’s…”
“Ha! That’s right, Thor! Bring me my damn pillows!”
“You’re such a tool, Charlie.”
Thor hung up the phone, and then he hung his head.
“Motherfucker better take his time healing, ‘cause I’m breaking some damn bones once he does,” he muttered.
“Ease up, Thor,” said Catrina. “He got a fucking pole through his chest.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to be such a douchebag about it.”
“He’s not being a douchebag. He’s legitimately incapacitated.”
“Legitimately incapacitated, my ass,” replied the God of Thunder. “If you’ve got such a soft spot for him, why don’t you go bring him his pillows?”
“Fuck that, man,” said Catrina, putting her feet up on the desk. “You answered the phone, not me. You do it.”
“This is bullshit,” he muttered as he walked out from behind the service desk.