Before he could give another brand a try, a knock suddenly came to the door of the suite, catching him off-guard as he sighed to himself.
"Well, that's probably not good, is it?" He muttered.
He was hesitant to open the door, knowing it was no good, but after the knocking didn't stop, he finally gave in and opened it.
Behind the door was a disgruntled looking middle-aged man with a bushy mustache, wearing a neat tuxedo with a nametag on it stating his name–"Harold." It was clear by a single look and the attire he wore that this was the person responsible for running the establishment.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave before I call the cops," the hotel manager said sternly.
"Give me a break, man, I just woke up…" He sighed, rubbing his own head.
The manager held a disgusted expression, waving his hand in front of his nose as if trying to dispel an unwanted stench.
