"I don't understand why you don't understand." -- Anon Guest
This place was an outrage. Roman's first thought as he returned to consciousness was that someone was going to pay for being so loud in his vicinity. It didn't matter to him that the someone was a baby. It mattered that the baby was interrupting his rest. There was other hubbub. People talking. People clattering around with things. He opened his eyes to see dingy grey foam tiles in the ceiling. Who had under-bid for this disgusting decor?
It got worse. The dingy grey was everywhere. The whitewashed walls were grey. The privacy curtains were grey. The sheets were grey. Even the linoleum (someone was going to get sued for that) was a distinct shade of once-was-white. The place was full of people. He could see them bumping the curtain around his bed. He could hear them chattering away in an assortment of languages. He could hear a baby crying, he could hear someone coughing. He could hear someone else sneezing. And worst of all, he'd been awake for an entire minute without getting any kind of service or upgrade or even an apology. All he had was a button, which he spammed.
They took twenty minutes to get to him, and when they did, they were also wearing a white that had gone grey. They looked unprofessional. Tired, with a sunless pallor and an air that they were so very done with the world to date. Their first action was to move the button out of Roman's immediate reach. "I understand you're scared, but you're relatively unharmed. There's been an immense tragedy. An unregistered private jet lost control and crashed through two blocks of residential complexes with full fuel tanks. The resultant fire caused the collapse of the buildings and spread to five more blocks. You're in triage while we work through more urgent cases. What do you remember before waking up here?"