Beyond the AMANGIRI Sign

My first drive to Amangiri was an uneasy one. It was my orientation day, and I had little to no idea what that meant. So I buttoned up my Sunday best and hopped in my old beaten-down Civic, which idled with the same nervousness as me as I set off on my trek into employment. "This place is bougie as hell, serving celebrities and nepo babies alike" I thought to myself, "How do I fit into that mix? Shouldn't they require a degree in dishwashing or something?" As I pulled off the highway onto their private road I passed the small but intimidating AMANGIRI sign.

I felt like Dorothy off to see the wizard following the yellow brick road, counting the yellow stripes that traced the center of the road. It stretched and wound, reaching just beyond the sight of the highway before ending at a call box and gate. I pressed the call button and waited for a response: "Drive to the cabin and make a right down to the service building." The gates to Emerald City opened, and I entered slowly. It was quite the view; the road carved between buttes and mesas grew all around. I was astounded for a few seconds before remembering how utterly unprepared I was.

I reached the cabin and went right at a fork in the road towards the service building. I timidly walked into the building as people around me moved intently. My wide-eyed look caught a passerby's attention. "You must be new," they confirmed, which sent me spiraling and cemented my state of discomfort. "I am," I replied sheepishly. They directed me to the laundry department. A notably exhausted lady shuffled forward to greet me, "Uniform? F&B?" she said. "Yes," I replied, and she disappeared to a back room. Her feet dragged behind her as she returned with a bright white shirt and tan pants. I tried it on; It was comfy but a bit stiff. I thanked her but soon realized I was in the wrong uniform. I was there for a kitchen job, not F&B, which entails an entirely new uniform. As she walked away, I held my hand out and debated whether to say something. By the time I mustered the courage, she had vanished into the depths of the laundry department. "She's busy," I told myself, "and tired. I don't want to hassle her." I contributed my cowardice to benevolence as if I wouldn't have to come back at the end of the day and correct my mistake. A few other new hires were lingering at the front of the building, wandering around aimlessly with the same nervous look as me. As I waited for the employee shuttle, I saw a pair of chipmunks dancing between the tall grass. "These chipmunks are probably more qualified for this job," I figured. "They live here, probably bougie as hell too." I considered abandoning my post and just hopping in my car and leaving. Maybe I could follow the chipmunks into the tall grass and live out my days in the desert sand. The shuttle brakes awoke me from my daydream. I boarded and looked back to the chipmunks, but they had vanished like the laundry lady. "They're busy," I told myself.

The shuttle ride was extraordinary. The drive to the service building was beautiful, but the drive to the resort was even better. We descended deeper into the canyon and exited at the base of a mesa, finally arriving at the resort. The sound of my shaking extremities was masked by the rattling of the shuttle as the road suddenly turned to gravel. We glimpsed the hotel's main entrance, beyond guest parking, which held a broad stairway with a waterfall to the right, below their billowing butte. I craned my neck to behold its grandeur just a second longer as we passed behind a wall to the employee entrance. This entrance was less grand: large electrical boxes, a barrel full of old fryer oil, and a bench with an ashtray were all we had to greet us. As we walked into the building, a gust of air was shot down from the heavens above. I must've looked startled because another employee walking towards us said, "Air curtains, you'll get used to them." I smiled and nodded like I knew what the hell air curtains were.

We were met with an extended hallway, a hallway that would give any other an inferiority complex. It felt like walking The Green Mile; fluorescent lights flickering as if someone had just flipped the switch on an electric chair. We crept and crawled through the lengthy hallway, passing an IT department (one guy at a desk with 4 monitors in a pitch-black room), an engineering department (pipes and valves galore occupied with 10 varitations of Bob the Builder), two walk-in fridges and at the end of the hall, a break room, a staircase, and the HR department. We were corraled into the HR department, passing three desks along the way to a small conference room at the rear. A large oval table sat in the center of the room like an altar; The large TV on the wall reading, "Welcome to Amangiri."

Edited by Victoria Schaubeck

Evan’s Inferno