Writing: Really Random Vignette

It wasn’t the dingy wallpaper, the tired tasselled lamps or even the way just touching the desk made her hands feel defiled. No, the major problem with working reception at ‘Golden Days Quality Hotel’ was the utter oppressive nature of the OAP ghosts that frequented it.

 
Michelle couldn’t understand why on earth they would want to spend their afterlife hanging round the same dreary place they did while they were alive, but every room in the place was packed with a different variation of a grey, slightly damp seeming, elderly ghost – usually wearing polyester and sandals with socks.

If Michelle had been dead, she wouldn’t have stood it for a second. She’d be off round the world, seeing everything she’d dreamed of while she was alive but couldn’t afford to visit. She definitely wouldn’t be stuck in this dump.

“Seriously love; I don’t know why you come.” She said as she helped yet another OAP check out. “Haven’t you got better things to do?” She leaned back on her chair and continued filing her nails, her long legs swinging in her high heels.

The OAP ghost blinked and decided to not mention the way Michelle’s foot kept kicking through the reception desk, or the way the dark ligament marks around her neck contrasted vividly with her corpse pale skin. It seemed kinder not to.

“Well dear,” she said at last, “you’d be amazed at the way habit can take a hold of you.”