What Waits on the Third Floor?

At six in the morning the grandeur of the Kapinski Hotel in Shenzhen feels like a set from the Twilight Zone.  The lobby is monumental. The art and design are exquisite, whimsical and tasteful, but there are no people anywhere: no bellhops scurrying, no janitors cleaning, no concierge smiling, no reservation clerks reserving. It’s like it was hit by a neutron bomb. 

I’m in the lobby searching for assistance because the free Internet connection in my room doesn’t work, and without that I am completely adrift in a very foreign land. I tried calling the front desk from my room to ask for help, but the phone has only one service button, which is labeled (quite appropriately) “service center,” but when I press it (continually) I am met with a series of irritating beeps. Then the line goes dead. Isn’t that the perfect opening for a Twilight Zone episode? A jet lagged westerner in an opulent Chinese hotel presses the only service button on his phone only to find it connects him to nothing. Cue the eerie music.

ROD SERLING: “Meet Barry Flicker, a Premier Platinum traveler of the world. Twenty-four hours ago he boarded Untied Airlines flight 889 bound for Shenzhen, China. But unbeknownst to Mr. Flicker, when he changed planes in Beijing, his ticket was upgraded to a very special one way excursion…  to the Twilight Zone.”

SCENE 2: 

Placing the useless receiver back in its cradle, Barry throws on some clothes and storms out of his room determined to get these people to provide the service to which he is so fully entitled.

CUT TO THE ELEVATOR BAY: 

They have mirrored doors, but inside the elevator the walls are mirrored too, so early in the morning, without glasses, it’s impossible for Barry to tell whether the doors are opened or closed. He stands there impatiently waiting for an elevator, growing more irritated by the second before he finally discovers, through the use of his hands, that he has been standing in front of an open and waiting elevator for five minutes.  

CLOSE UP: 

Barry’s irritation turns to wonder as he stares transfixed by the elevator floor.

POV THE ELEVATOR FLOOR:

We see a striking black and gold marble mandala with the four directions marked by gleaming brass railings stretching out like compass markings traditionally meant to symbolize the all embracing vastness of the universe.  But this is an optical illusion created by the mirrored walls. The floor is only a quarter circle and only a single brass railing extends along the side and back wall of the elevator. Is this illusion meant to reveal something deeper and more ominous? Perhaps the universe is really just an elevator with very clean mirrors?

MEDIUM SHOT: 

Barry steps out of the elevator into the empty silence of the lobby. He is confronted by an unoccupied seating arrangement.  A couch with end tables and lamps in front of which is a classic oval coffee table, flanked by two side chairs. He thinks nothing of it at first. This cozy cluster would be typical of any grand hotel until, on second look, he notices the backs of the side chairs. They are eight feet tall. The chairs also have only one arm. What kind of beings would require chairs like these? Does this explain the missing humans?

LONG SHOT ENTERING THE GRAND HALL:

What last night at check-in appeared to be merely lovely recessed ceiling lights can be much more clearly seen in the light of this new morning for what they really are – the underbelly of the mother ship, and suspended beneath it is its sparkling embryo about to be lifted through the assimilation portal for final incubation. No doubt whatever is to emerge from this dazzling and grotesque life form will soon be sitting in one of those chairs sipping green tea.

CUT TO HOTEL ROOM: 

Unnerved from his outing Barry has returned to his hotel room, the only place he feels safe. He is seated on the edge of his unmade bed. The phone rings with a harsh, blaring trill. He picks up the receiver. He is told that shortly someone will come to his room to fix the Internet connection. He hangs up the phone and waits. There is a knock at the door. He opens it. A man and a woman in dark suits enter. They are smiling and polite. The man runs some tests on his laptop. They converse in Chinese. Their exchange is tinged with sadness. The woman explains that there is no wireless Internet connection in the rooms, but that there is a large business center on the third floor with “almost no people” where he can go to get service. They apologize profusely, and emphasize repeatedly that all he needs to do is go to the third floor. Why are they so eager to have him go to the “third floor?” They don’t know that he has seen the end chairs and the sparkling embryo in the “lobby.” He thanks them and then fastens the security bolt on his door as soon as they leave.

Now he sits staring out the window of this 10^th floor room at the towering tract of apartment buildings across the way. He sees endless vacant windows and empty balconies, but no people. Down below a scattering of cars and trucks drift slowly around the roadways. A few pairs of legs make their way through the light curtain of rain sheltered by colorful umbrellas. Are there actually people under those umbrellas? They certainly want him to think so down on the third floor.