Hospitality

"So, before we can help you with housing, you need to fill out these change of address forms." said the receptionist.

"Dios! What is with you people? I died tonight and ever since then, I've had to go from one room to the next, where everyone else seems to be okay with that fact!" yelled a now angry Héctor. He was normally a level-headed, non violent man. But by now, he was so sick and tired of everyone showing little or no concern with his permanent situation. These people dealt with new arrivals every day. The least they could do was show a little compassion.

"Señor, I'm just doing my job. If you continue this outburst, I'm going to have to call security." the woman replied, seemingly oblivious that Héctor was experiencing the 5 stages of grief. Which made sense, seeing as Héctor himself wasn't aware of that fact. All he knew was that death was bringing out the worst in him. And that, despite the fact that he died five hours ago, he still wasn't used to his skeleton form. With an exasperated sigh, he went and seated himself in one of the chairs in the waiting room, taking a packet of forms about the size of a hotel phone book. He began filling them out and for a while, he sort of spaced out. He was filling in the blanks correctly, but his mind seemed to forget where he was. As it continued to drift, his hands even looked like human hands instead of those of a skeleton. But he came back to reality the moment he reached the last three pages. "Cause of Death?" he questioned no one in particular. Furrowing his brow and tapping the pencil against his skull, he thought back to earlier that night.

Ernesto and him were playing at a venue in Mexico City. After playing, they went to grab something to eat. Some guy had a stand on the side of the street and was selling chorizo tacos. Héctor wasn't much for street food, it never seemed to agree with him. But Ernesto insisted and even offered to buy, so Héctor complied. Then he remembered Ernesto's last words.

"Maybe it was the chorizo, my friend?"

'Food poisoning? I died of food poisoning? But, that can't be right.' he thought to himself. Sure, street food gave his stomach instant fits, but he never got deathly ill from it. It was quite an odd mystery, that was for sure. Little did Héctor know, that it would be almost another hundred years before he would find out the truth. He finished filling out the forms and handed them back to the receptionist. She took them and began running the information through the database on her desktop.

"Ok Señor Rivera, I'll send out a hospitality member momentarily. They'll show you around and take you to your temporary apartment complex." She looked Héctor up and down. "By the way, if you are looking to make some extra cash, I know a guy who would gladly buy your charro suit." Héctor was about to blurt out a few choice words in Spanish, but instead chose to take a breath and calm himself. He began to ponder whether or not to take her up on her offer. It was only a performance suit, and it wasn't as if Imelda had made it for him. Ernesto and him had bought matching ones before going on tour. Depending on the offer price, he was willing to sell it.

"How much?" he asked

"He's not here right now, but I can pay 300 pesos for it and he can just pay me back."

"What am I going to wear instead?" He was suddenly aware that he couldn't walk around without any clothes, even if he was a skeleton.

"Eh, try the lost and found." she pointed as her attention returned to her computer. Héctor turned in the direction her finger had pointed and walked down a dimly lit hallway. He continued walking until the keyboard clicks the receptionist was making were inaudible. Both the poor lighting and sudden silence made the room unnerving, to say the least. It was enough to send a shiver down Héctor's spine. Héctor had to stifle a scream when he heard his bones rattle. He found the door to the lost and found, but as soon as he opened it, an avalanche of miscellaneous items knocked him to the floor. As he tried to get up, he soon realized a horrific truth: his bones had been scattered due to the force of the avalanche. This time he let out a very loud scream that echoed off the walls. The receptionist came running and noticed the mess and a disassembled Héctor. "I'm terribly sorry, Señor. I should have warned you that the lost and found was full."

"That's quite an understatement." Héctor groaned from under a pile of clothing. The receptionist set the clothing aside, and found Héctor's skull sitting amidst more junk. She then proceeded to place his bones in a pile of their own.

"There, now you can put yourself back together." she stated. Héctor just stared at her questionably. "Well go on. I can't clean up this mess by myself."

"And what, exactly, do you expect me to do? I am literally in pieces right now." he retorted.

"They didn't tell you on arrival? Aye, Dios. They really need to explain important stuff like this. Maybe create a pamphlet..."

"Um, buenos días, Señora! I still need fixing here."

"Oh, right. You have to either put yourself back together manually or you can use the 'attraction' technique. You have to will your bones to reattach themselves."

"Will?" he questioned. Hector began concentrating. As he did this his bones magnetically began reattaching themselves. In minutes, he was standing once more. Reaching down, he picked up his skull and screwed it back on. He then noticed the pile of clothes and began rummaging through them. He picked out a purple shirt, some khaki striped pants, a red neckerchief, and a straw hat. "There, all set." Hector said. A look of confusion came across his features when he noticed the receptionist looking away from him. He looked down and saw his charro suit on the floor. With haste, Hector quickly dressed.