Entitled Hotel Guest Mocked My Mom Who Works as a Maid, so She Taught Her Never to Mess with Housekeeping Again

Entitled Hotel Guest Mocked My Mom Who Works as a Maid, so She Taught Her Never to Mess with Housekeeping Again

When a devoted hotel maid is tormented by a wealthy and arrogant guest, she devises a plan that turns the tables in the most unexpected way. Instead of seeking revenge with anger, she orchestrates a quiet but powerful act of defiance that forces the cruel woman to face the bitter consequences of her actions.

Woman cleaning a hotel room | Source: Pexels

Woman cleaning a hotel room | Source: Pexels

My mother has always been a source of inspiration for me. As a maid at a fancy local hotel, she takes immense pride in her work. She treats every room as if it were her own, ensuring everything is spotless and welcoming for the guests.

Recently, however, she had an encounter that tested her patience like never before. It all started on a seemingly ordinary day. My mother was assigned to clean room 256, which was occupied by a young woman named Ms. Johnson.

Woman in uniform beside hotel room bed | Source: Pexels

Woman in uniform beside hotel room bed | Source: Pexels

From the moment she stepped into the room, my mother could sense the woman’s dislike for her. Ms. Johnson lounged on the bed, scrolling through her phone, barely acknowledging my mother’s presence.

As my mother meticulously cleaned the room, making sure every surface was spotless, Ms. Johnson suddenly knocked her coffee cup off the table, sending dark liquid spilling onto the freshly mopped floor. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she looked my mother straight in the eye and sneered, “Clean that up!”

Coffee mug falling | Source: Pexels

Coffee mug falling | Source: Pexels

My mother’s heart sank. She had worked so hard to make the room perfect, only to see her efforts so carelessly undone. But she knew she couldn’t afford to lose her job. It provided her with a sense of independence and stability for our family.

A person vacuuming a rug | Source: Pexels

A person vacuuming a rug | Source: Pexels

Swallowing her pride, she silently cleaned the floor again, all while feeling Ms. Johnson’s piercing gaze on her. As she worked, the woman laughed. The mocking giggle echoed through the room. “Well done for a maid. You didn’t even talk back to me,” she taunted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tomorrow, I’ll come up with something more interesting for you.”

Woman standing near table with pastries | Source: Pexels

Woman standing near table with pastries | Source: Pexels

My mother finished her task, holding back tears. She knew showing any sign of distress would only give the woman more satisfaction. That night, as she recounted the story to me, I could see the hurt in her eyes. But there was also a spark of determination. She wasn’t going to let this entitled guest break her spirit.

Mother and daughter sitting at the table holding hands | Source: Pexels

Mother and daughter sitting at the table holding hands | Source: Pexels

The next day, my mother went to work with a plan. She knew Ms. Johnson would try to humiliate her again, but this time, she was ready. She was determined to show this woman that kindness and respect were not weaknesses and that underestimating the resolve of someone who works with dignity and pride was a grave mistake.

Woman holding a plastic basin with cleaning materials | Source: Pexels

Woman holding a plastic basin with cleaning materials | Source: Pexels

Around mid-morning, my mother walked into room 256 with a steely determination. She had a plan. Sure enough, there she was, Ms. Johnson, reclining on the bed, her smirk already in place.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Ms. Johnson said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Let’s see what mess I can make for you today.” She reached for her coffee cup, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Woman leaning on handrail in a hotel room | Source: Pexels

Woman leaning on handrail in a hotel room | Source: Pexels

My mother kept her composure. She knew what to expect. Without a word, she began her cleaning routine, methodically and efficiently, refusing to rise to the bait. As she moved around the room, she noticed something important: Ms. Johnson’s laptop was left open on the table, the screen glowing with unattended work.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” my mother said in her most polite tone. “I need to dust the table. Would you mind closing your laptop?”

Person using phone with laptop on desk | Source: Pexels

Person using phone with laptop on desk | Source: Pexels

Ms. Johnson huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she muttered, snapping the laptop shut and placing it to the side with an exaggerated sigh. “But hurry up. I have important work to do.”

“Of course, ma’am,” my mother replied, her voice steady.

Woman relaxing in a hotel room | Source: Pexels

Woman relaxing in a hotel room | Source: Pexels

“You’re slower than yesterday,” Ms. Johnson remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do they not teach speed in maid school?” My mother ignored the jab, focusing on her task.

Ms. Johnson’s impatience was palpable, and she drummed her fingers on the bedside table. “Done yet?” Ms. Johnson snapped.

Woman tiding up a hotel room | Source: Pexels

Woman tiding up a hotel room | Source: Pexels

“Almost, ma’am,” my mother replied calmly.

Just then, the door opened, and Mr. Ramirez, the hotel manager, appeared. He glanced around the room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. “Good morning, Ms. Johnson,” he greeted her warmly.

“I trust everything is to your satisfaction?”

Hotel manager entering a room | Source: Pexels

Hotel manager entering a room | Source: Pexels

Ms. Johnson scoffed. “It’s fine. Your maid here is just clumsy and slow.”

Mr. Ramirez frowned slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Our staff is trained to provide excellent service.”

“Well, maybe she needs more training,” Ms. Johnson said, casting a disdainful look at my mother.

Mr. Ramirez turned to my mother, concern evident in his eyes. “Mrs. Adams, is there a problem?”

My mother met his gaze with her calm and professional demeanor. “No, Mr. Ramirez. Everything is under control.”

A chambermaid holding a stack of towels | Source: Pexels

A chambermaid holding a stack of towels | Source: Pexels

Mr. Ramirez nodded, though his concern lingered. “Ms. Johnson, I assure you, we will make sure your stay is as comfortable as possible.”

Ms. Johnson waved dismissively. “Just make sure she doesn’t break anything.”

Mr. Ramirez gave my mother an encouraging smile before leaving. As the door closed behind him, my mother felt a surge of quiet confidence. She was ready for whatever Ms. Johnson had in store next.

Woman fixing pillows on the bed | Source: Pexels

Woman fixing pillows on the bed | Source: Pexels

My mother continued her work, but she had one more trick up her sleeve. She knew Ms. Johnson would never learn unless she experienced a bit of discomfort herself.

As she finished cleaning, my mother subtly dropped a small, harmless but unpleasant-smelling packet under the bed. It was a trick she had learned from an old colleague, a mixture that would release a gradually intensifying odor over time. It wasn’t immediately noticeable, but within a few hours, it would become quite bothersome.

A tidy hotel room | Source: Pexels

A tidy hotel room | Source: Pexels

“All done, ma’am,” my mother said standing up and gathering her cleaning supplies. “Have a pleasant day.”

The next morning, my mother arrived at work and was immediately greeted by the sight of Ms. Johnson in the lobby, furiously arguing with Mr. Ramirez. Her face was flushed with anger, and her voice carried through the lobby.

Man and woman standing in a hotel lobby | Source: Pexels

Man and woman standing in a hotel lobby | Source: Pexels’

“I can’t stay in that room! It smells awful! How can you expect guests to stay in such conditions?” Ms. Johnson was practically shouting, drawing the attention of other guests and staff members.

Mr. Ramirez, ever the professional, maintained his calm demeanor. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Ms. Johnson. We take such matters very seriously. We’ll investigate the cause of the smell immediately and move you to another room in the meantime.”

Two people standing at a hotel entrance | Source: Pexels

Two people standing at a hotel entrance | Source: Pexels

Ms. Johnson, still fuming, stormed off, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Mr. Ramirez turned to my mother, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold.

“Mrs. Adams, could you please check Ms. Johnson’s room and see if you can find the source of the smell?” he asked, his voice calm but concerned. “Of course,” my mother replied, hiding a smile. She headed to room 256, her heart pounding with satisfaction.

A clean hotel room | Source: Unsplash

A clean hotel room | Source: Unsplash

Inside the room, my mother quickly found the packet she had placed under the bed and discreetly removed it. She then opened the windows and turned on the fan, allowing fresh air to circulate and clear the odor. As she worked, she couldn’t help but feel a small surge of triumph. Ms. Johnson had finally tasted a bit of her own medicine.

Woman carrying a stack of towers | Source: Pexels

Woman carrying a stack of towers | Source: Pexels’

As she left the room, she ran into Mr. Ramirez in the hallway. “Did you find the source of the smell?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Ramirez,” my mother replied. “It seems something had been left under the bed. I’ve removed it and aired out the room. It should be fine now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Adams,” Mr. Ramirez said, a hint of relief in his voice. “You’ve done an excellent job, as always.”

Hotel worker doing room service | Source: Pexels

Hotel worker doing room service | Source: Pexels

My mother nodded and continued with her day, knowing that sometimes, justice is served in the smallest of actions. But that wasn’t enough. My mom had one more lesson to teach Ms. Johnson.

The next day, she was assigned to help move Ms. Johnson’s belongings to another room. As usual, Mom did her job efficiently, ensuring every item was carefully placed in the new room.

Delivery man holding a cardboard box | Source: Pexels

Delivery man holding a cardboard box | Source: Pexels

Later that afternoon, a courier arrived with a package for room 256; Ms. Johnson’s previous room. Aware that Ms. Johnson had moved to room 312, Mom saw this as her chance to deliver a delayed but impactful lesson.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said to the courier, stepping forward with a polite smile. “The guest in room 256 has been moved to room 312. You can leave the package at the front desk, and I will ensure it gets to her.” The courier nodded, handing over the package. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” he said, already turning to leave.

A  person holding a package | Source: Pexels

A person holding a package | Source: Pexels

My mother took the package to the front desk and, with a smile, placed it in the corner behind some other deliveries, making sure it would not be found immediately.

The next day, Ms. Johnson was in a frenzy. She was preparing for her flight and an important event later that evening. Suddenly, she realized something crucial was missing. She frantically called the front desk, her voice shaking with panic.

An angry woman in aa grey tank top | Source: Pexels

An angry woman in aa grey tank top | Source: Pexels

“I had a package delivered to room 256. Where is it? It has my plane tickets and my dress for tonight’s event!” Ms. Johnson’s voice was a mix of anger and desperation.

The front desk clerk, taken aback by her intensity, quickly checked the records. After some confusion and a hurried search, they found the package tucked away in the corner. The clerk immediately called my mother to deliver it to Ms. Johnson’s new room, 312.

Receptionist making a phone call | Source: Pexels

Receptionist making a phone call | Source: Pexels

My mother, with a calm and measured pace, made her way to the room. She knocked on Ms. Johnson’s door, her expression serene. The woman yanked the door open, her eyes wide with anxiety. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for that package!” she snapped.

“Here is your package, ma’am. It was delivered to the wrong room,” my mother said sweetly, holding out the package.

A person holding a brown box | Source: Pexels

A person holding a brown box | Source: Pexels

Ms. Johnson snatched the package from her hands and ripped it open. Her face fell as she realized the delay had cost her dearly. The tickets were now useless, and she had no time to prepare for her event. Frustration and defeat were etched into her features. She could only muster a weak, “Thanks,” before slamming the door in my mother’s face.

Mom walked away, a slight smile playing on her lips. She knew she had given Ms. Johnson a taste of her own medicine, all without stepping outside the bounds of her duties. It was a quiet victory, but a deeply satisfying one.

Woman standing under a chandelier of a hotel room | Source: Pexels

Woman standing under a chandelier of a hotel room | Source: Pexels

When my mother told me about the incident later, I could see the relief in her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “the best revenge is simply letting people experience the consequences of their own actions.”

I Discovered My MIL Living in Our Attic — What She Was Hiding Shocked Me

When Ella hears strange noises coming from her attic while her husband, Aaron, is away, she fears the worst. But nothing could prepare her for the shocking discovery of her mother-in-law, Diane, hiding upstairs… What is going on?

It all started about a month ago, right after my husband, Aaron, left for a weeklong work trip. I’d never minded being alone in our cozy suburban house before, until the noises started.

A man walking out of a house | Source: Midjourney

A man walking out of a house | Source: Midjourney

At first, it was just the occasional soft thud from above. I brushed it off, telling myself the house was just settling. And if I’m being honest, our attic wasn’t really an attic.

It was a room on the third floor that had large windows that Aaron and I had boarded up when we moved in, and there was a thin balcony with a staircase leading to the ground floor.

We assumed that it was a sunroom or an art studio before we moved in.

An empty room | Source: Midjourney

An empty room | Source: Midjourney

I always planned on turning the space into something for myself, but the opportunity just never presented itself.

I heard another sound, and my breath caught. Old houses creak, right? Maybe a squirrel or two had found their way into the attic. But then, the sounds became more frequent, and more… human.

Whispering, faint but unmistakable.

A squirrell in an attic | Source: Midjourney

A squirrell in an attic | Source: Midjourney

One night, lying in bed scrolling through my phone, I heard it.

There it was, a low, guttural moan. My stomach twisted, my breath catching in my throat.

This wasn’t a squirrel. No way.

I grabbed my phone and texted Aaron immediately.

A woman using her phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman using her phone | Source: Midjourney

I think something, or someone, is in the attic!

His reply was just as immediate:

Ella, it’s probably nothing. I’ll check when I get back.

His casual response annoyed me. How could he be so dismissive?

I resolved to ignore the noises, telling myself I was overreacting.

A concerned woman | Source: Midjourney

A concerned woman | Source: Midjourney

But a few days later, when I was getting ready for bed, I heard footsteps. Like real, heavy footsteps above me.

That was the breaking point. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for Aaron to come home anymore. What was the point? There could have been someone sleeping under the same roof as me the entire time! I no longer felt safe.

Grabbing the baseball bat we kept in the garage for emergencies, I texted him again, letting him know I was going up to investigate.

A baseball bat in a garage | Source: Midjourney

A baseball bat in a garage | Source: Midjourney

His response chilled me to the bone.

Ella, please, love. Wait for me to check the attic. It’s really important that I do it.

Why wouldn’t he want me to go up there? What did he know? My mind spun with questions. Was he hiding something? Was I in danger?

Was someone squatting in our home?

A woman looking concerned | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking concerned | Source: Midjourney

Despite the knot tightening in my stomach, I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to know for myself.

With every creaky step up the narrow staircase, my heart pounded harder. I gripped the bat like it was my lifeline and pushed open the door to the attic.

The sight in front of me made me freeze.

There she was. My mother-in-law, Diane!

A narrow staircase | Source: Midjourney

A narrow staircase | Source: Midjourney

She was standing in the middle of the attic, dressed in a nightgown and robe, holding a paintbrush like a deer caught in headlights.

“What on earth are you doing here?” I shrieked, almost falling over my own feet. “Why did you moan? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

What was going on? Seriously.

An older woman holding paintbrushes | Source: Midjourney

An older woman holding paintbrushes | Source: Midjourney

Diane’s face flushed with embarrassment as she dropped the brush and held up her hands.

“Ella! Calm down! It’s not what you think!”

“Not what I think? I don’t even know what I think, Diane! You’re living in my attic?”

She sighed and rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath.

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

“I knew this was going to happen, but Aaron just doesn’t listen. Just… just sit down for a second. I’ll explain everything.”

I didn’t move, still gripping the bat, as if for moral support.

My mother-in-law was an assertive woman who rarely seemed fazed by anything. Seeing her look this sheepish was unsettling. After a beat, I slowly lowered myself onto a dusty box, keeping my eyes on her.

A dusty wooden box | Source: Midjourney

A dusty wooden box | Source: Midjourney

“Okay, look,” she began, her voice tinged with guilt. “Your husband is going to kill me for ruining the surprise. But you deserve to know, Ella. Aaron’s been working on something special for you!”

I raised my eyebrow.

“What kind of special involves you squatting in my attic? Are you the new resident ghost?”

She winced.

A frowning woman | Source: Midjourney

A frowning woman | Source: Midjourney

“I’m not squatting! Aaron wanted to create a space for you. Like… a space where you could finally turn your baking hobby into something more. He decided to renovate the attic into a studio.”

That caught me off guard.

“What? A studio?”

A woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

“For your dream, Ella,” she said, gesturing around the room. “Look, this is an attic where we would be able to cook or bake up here. There’s enough room. Aaron wanted to surprise you with a space where you could bake, experiment, and maybe even start selling your creations. But he’s been terrible with design! So he asked me to come over and help. Every day, after you leave for work, I come in and oversee the contractors.”

“Contractors?” I asked.

I felt stupid. Diane was saying things, but my brain just wasn’t processing any of it.

Contractors working in a room | Source: Midjourney

Contractors working in a room | Source: Midjourney

“Yes, contractors. We’ve sorted out the plumbing so that you’ll have a fully functional kitchen. The electricians are coming in next week to sort out the plugs. And I’ve been coming in to decorate and paint and all those cute things…”

Aaron and Diane had been hiding this? Also, how had I not noticed any of it? Was I seriously that aloof?

“But why stay here?” I asked, still suspicious. “In the attic?”

An electrician working | Source: Midjourney

An electrician working | Source: Midjourney

“In the studio, you mean?” she said. “I wasn’t actually staying here full-time. I just kept coming and going through the balcony and the staircase on the side. I didn’t want to keep dropping by and risk you catching on.”

“And the moaning and groaning?” I asked.

Diane bit her lip, looking truly mortified.

An older woman with her hand on her head | Source: Midjourney

An older woman with her hand on her head | Source: Midjourney

“I completely underestimated how tough this would be on my back. The moans were me… stretching, darling.”

I stared at her, trying to reconcile the bizarre reality in front of me. Slowly, I took in the space. The attic, though still a work in progress, was beautiful.

The huge windows were cleaned, all the dust and grime removed, and I could imagine the light streaming in during the day. It would be perfect.

A surprised woman | Source: Midjourney

A surprised woman | Source: Midjourney

I took in the half-painted walls which bore whimsical murals of cupcakes and rolling pins. Sketches were pinned everywhere, showing shelves for ingredients, a central island for prep work, and a cozy sitting area by the windows.

Pinned on one board was a blueprint with a title in Aaron’s handwriting:

Ella’s Baking Studio

Sketches on a wall | Source: Midjourney

Sketches on a wall | Source: Midjourney

My throat tightened.

“This is really for me?” I asked.

Diane nodded, her face softening.

“He wanted you to have a space where you could do what you love. He’s been feeling guilty about how busy he’s been with work. He thought this would show how much he appreciates everything you do.”

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

I sat there in stunned silence as tears pricked my eyes.

Days of paranoia, thinking there was some dark secret lurking in our attic… only to find this?

A gift born from love and thoughtfulness?

Later that evening, Aaron called. I could hear the tension in his voice when he spoke.

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

“Ella, please tell me that you didn’t go up there. I’ll ask Kevin from next door to check.”

“I did,” I admitted. “Aaron… I don’t even know what to say.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by a soft laugh.

“Well, there goes the surprise.”

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

“I don’t deserve this,” I admitted.

“According to whom?” he asked. “You’re the glue that holds our family together, Ella. This is just my way of showing you how much I love you. And that you don’t have to stay at your job if you don’t want to. This can be your new start.”

When Aaron came home a few days later, we all worked together to finish the studio. Diane proved invaluable; her eye for décor was something else.

A mural painted onto a wall | Source: Midjourney

A mural painted onto a wall | Source: Midjourney

The space turned out better than I could have imagined. Every time I step into that sun-kissed studio, surrounded by shelves lined with jars of baking delights, I’m reminded of the love that went into it.

Diane and I have grown closer since that day, though I still tease her about the “attic residency” moment in our lives.

Sometimes, life’s twists aren’t about shocking betrayals or sinister secrets; they’re about uncovering the quiet, unexpected ways the people around us show their love.

A beautiful baking studio | Source: Midjourney

A beautiful baking studio | Source: Midjourney

Brenda thought her marriage to a widower would be her chance to build a loving, blended family. But when her young stepson insists his “real mom” is still living in their house, strange occurrences and hidden secrets force Brenda to question everything she thought she knew about her new family.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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