**Diary Entry August 15th**
“Get out of here, you filthy old man!” they shouted as they shoved me out of the hotel. Only later did they realise who I really wasbut by then, it was too late.
The young receptionist, immaculately dressed and polished, blinked in surprise at the scruffy sixty-year-old standing before her. His clothes were worn, his scent far from pleasant, yet he smiled warmly and said, “Miss, could I book a suite, please?”
There was something familiar in his bright blue eyessomething Emily couldnt quite place. Annoyed, she raised her chin and reached for the panic button. “Im sorry, but we dont accommodate *your sort* here,” she said coldly.
“My *sort*? What exactly do you mean by that?”
He looked offended. Not a beggar, certainly, but his appearance well, it left much to be desired. He reeked of something foul, as if hed been fishing for days. And the audacity to ask for a *suite*!
Emily scoffed, eyeing him with disdain. “Please dont waste my time. All our rooms are taken. A dirty old man like you, thinking he can afford a suite” she muttered under her breath.
Johnathan Whitmore knew betterthere was *always* one suite reserved. Before he could argue, security grabbed him, twisted his arms, and shoved him onto the street. They laughed, mocking him. “Grandad, you couldnt even pay for a budget room. Clear off before we count your ribs!”
He was stunned. *Grandad?* He was only sixty! If it werent for this blasted fishing trip, hed have shown them who the real “grandad” was. Fighting back wouldve risked police involvement, so he swallowed his pridebut silently swore that if he ever owned a hotel, men like these would be the first to go.
His attempt to return was futile. They threatened to call the police, so he retreated to a park bench, muttering curses. How had it come to this? A simple fishing trip gone wrongweak catches, then rain, then slipping into the river up to his knees. His clothes were ruined, his keys lost.
His daughter, Margaret, was away on business, so he couldnt get home. Hed meant to surprise her, only to find her packing for a trip. “Dad, Im so sorry. Ill be back soonpromise me you wont mope?” She kissed his cheek.
“Me? Mope? I came here to fish!” Hed laughed, but now, with a dead phone and no one to call, the joke wore thin.
A woman sat beside himkind-faced, well-kept. She offered him a warm pasty. “Youve been here all day. What happened?”
He told herthe fishing, the rain, the lost keys, the hotels cruelty. “People judge by appearances,” he sighed.
She nodded. “I could tell you werent some drunk. I run the bakery nearby. Youre welcome to stay with me tonightclean up, rest, call Margaret in the morning.”
Overwhelmed, he accepted. Her name was Eleanor. Her small home was humble but warm, and for the first time that day, he felt human again.
The next morning, Margaret stormed the hotel. “You turned my father away because he *looked* poor?” The staff paled when Johnathan walked innow clean, composed, unmistakably the owner of Whitmore Enterprises.
Apologies poured in, but Margaret was firm. “Youre all dismissed.”
Later, Johnathan offered Eleanor the manager position. She suggested partnering with hostels for those who couldnt afford suites and training staff in kindness. Margaret agreed instantly.
Weeks passed. Johnathan sold his London flat, bought one near Margaret and Eleanor, and asked Eleanor to the theatre. She smileda real, hopeful smile.
Margaret just grinned, watching her father rediscover happiness.
**Lesson learned:** Appearances deceive. Kindness costs nothing, but arrogance can cost everything. And sometimes, the best chapters begin on a park bench.
