Nova Scotia, Canada
September 25th, 2016
9:51am AT
He was home.
Relatively speaking, that is. He was at least in the right province, and nowhere near the Bay of Fundy. Halifax was close enough to reach by bus but not so close that random tourists came by the building.
He'd let a friend back in Ottawa talk him into taking the job as apartment manager. It should have been an easier sell - he was being paid more than he had been earning at the call centre, his new employer covered his relocation expenses, the roof over his head was included in the benefits package, he had decent medical care for his ulcer and a few other things he didn't previously know were wrong with him, and he was back in the Maritimes. It was almost too good to be true... which is why he was worried. He knew who his friend's tenants were. Who was he going to end up with?
But that was a worry for later. Right now, he had to give the place a quick inspection.
"The place" was a failed resort - too large to be a B&B, too small to be a proper hotel, too common in design (and too far from the ocean) to be an ultra-luxurious getaway. It had a pool behind the building and a small gymnasium behind the pool. The gym was stripped bare, though; the exercise equipment had been sold to pay down the last owner's debts before he'd had to sell the property altogether, and Funtom Property Management hadn't seen fit to purchase replacements for anything but the lighting and a few floor mats. At least the building's showers were still intact. The outbuilding's water heater didn't work very well, though - but who was going to want to use an empty gym? That was a matter that could be fixed later, once there was more money available.
He looked at the wall surrounding the property - a good, solid wall that would preserve everyone's privacy - then turned his attention to the main building. There were eight guest suites spread out over a single level, four of which had two bedrooms while the other four - the suites closest to the reception area - had one each. Oddly, the locks were mechanical, not the usual keycard locks found in practically every other hotel in Canada. He and Mr. Michaels had spent the previous day supervising the movers, making sure each of the bedrooms had a bed and all of the suites had televisions, telephones, and the other furniture people had come to expect in a hotel room. The two of them had also made sure that there were enough tables and chairs in the breakfast nook behind reception for a dozen people to eat at the same time. Although Michaels hadn't done any of the physical work, leaving that part of the job up to him.
The kitchen behind the nook was a work of art. Large enough for three people to work in it together, the stoves and ovens were gas-fired, the countertop was solid enough to stand up to heavy use, and the cupboards held such a wide range of kitchen equipment that he didn't even recognize all of it. It and the nook could easily serve as a proper restaurant, if the place wasn't so small and out of the way as to be impossible to make a profit running. The kitchen even had its own stairs down to a pantry and wine cellar, neither of which were stocked at the moment.
Also to be found in the basement was a laundry room large enough to handle the washing from the guest rooms and restaurant, the mechanical rooms that all buildings larger than a shed had in their basements, a storeroom large enough to hold enough supplies to last the place for a week even if the roads were impassable... and his own apartment. Such was life. At least it was an apartment, not a single room.
As he walked up the front stairs and into the office behind the reception desk, he thought that the place was quite peaceful. He wondered how long that would last.
Then he noticed the people gathered near the pool outside. They looked familiar: the mustached man in the dark-green kimono, the stocky man in a dirty gi, the boy with the tiger-striped bandana and a backpack, the girl in the pink pantsuit carrying spherical clubs (not bonbori lanterns), the old woman with the walking stick that was taller than she was, the boy wearing white robes and thick glasses, the girl in the blue top and dark tights with a ridiculously-huge spatula strapped to her back, the young woman wearing a dress and an apron, the girl in the fashionable (for three decades ago) blouse and slacks, and, of course, the short-haired girl in a yellow sundress yelling at a boy in black slacks and red shirt. He opened the window to hear "- is all your fault, Ranma!"
Oh, God.
Epsilon sighed and headed out to meet his new tenants.
This one's for our friend who won't be writing his own stories any more. Wish you were still here.
September 25th, 2016
9:51am AT
He was home.
Relatively speaking, that is. He was at least in the right province, and nowhere near the Bay of Fundy. Halifax was close enough to reach by bus but not so close that random tourists came by the building.
He'd let a friend back in Ottawa talk him into taking the job as apartment manager. It should have been an easier sell - he was being paid more than he had been earning at the call centre, his new employer covered his relocation expenses, the roof over his head was included in the benefits package, he had decent medical care for his ulcer and a few other things he didn't previously know were wrong with him, and he was back in the Maritimes. It was almost too good to be true... which is why he was worried. He knew who his friend's tenants were. Who was he going to end up with?
But that was a worry for later. Right now, he had to give the place a quick inspection.
"The place" was a failed resort - too large to be a B&B, too small to be a proper hotel, too common in design (and too far from the ocean) to be an ultra-luxurious getaway. It had a pool behind the building and a small gymnasium behind the pool. The gym was stripped bare, though; the exercise equipment had been sold to pay down the last owner's debts before he'd had to sell the property altogether, and Funtom Property Management hadn't seen fit to purchase replacements for anything but the lighting and a few floor mats. At least the building's showers were still intact. The outbuilding's water heater didn't work very well, though - but who was going to want to use an empty gym? That was a matter that could be fixed later, once there was more money available.
He looked at the wall surrounding the property - a good, solid wall that would preserve everyone's privacy - then turned his attention to the main building. There were eight guest suites spread out over a single level, four of which had two bedrooms while the other four - the suites closest to the reception area - had one each. Oddly, the locks were mechanical, not the usual keycard locks found in practically every other hotel in Canada. He and Mr. Michaels had spent the previous day supervising the movers, making sure each of the bedrooms had a bed and all of the suites had televisions, telephones, and the other furniture people had come to expect in a hotel room. The two of them had also made sure that there were enough tables and chairs in the breakfast nook behind reception for a dozen people to eat at the same time. Although Michaels hadn't done any of the physical work, leaving that part of the job up to him.
The kitchen behind the nook was a work of art. Large enough for three people to work in it together, the stoves and ovens were gas-fired, the countertop was solid enough to stand up to heavy use, and the cupboards held such a wide range of kitchen equipment that he didn't even recognize all of it. It and the nook could easily serve as a proper restaurant, if the place wasn't so small and out of the way as to be impossible to make a profit running. The kitchen even had its own stairs down to a pantry and wine cellar, neither of which were stocked at the moment.
Also to be found in the basement was a laundry room large enough to handle the washing from the guest rooms and restaurant, the mechanical rooms that all buildings larger than a shed had in their basements, a storeroom large enough to hold enough supplies to last the place for a week even if the roads were impassable... and his own apartment. Such was life. At least it was an apartment, not a single room.
As he walked up the front stairs and into the office behind the reception desk, he thought that the place was quite peaceful. He wondered how long that would last.
Then he noticed the people gathered near the pool outside. They looked familiar: the mustached man in the dark-green kimono, the stocky man in a dirty gi, the boy with the tiger-striped bandana and a backpack, the girl in the pink pantsuit carrying spherical clubs (not bonbori lanterns), the old woman with the walking stick that was taller than she was, the boy wearing white robes and thick glasses, the girl in the blue top and dark tights with a ridiculously-huge spatula strapped to her back, the young woman wearing a dress and an apron, the girl in the fashionable (for three decades ago) blouse and slacks, and, of course, the short-haired girl in a yellow sundress yelling at a boy in black slacks and red shirt. He opened the window to hear "- is all your fault, Ranma!"
Oh, God.
Epsilon sighed and headed out to meet his new tenants.
This one's for our friend who won't be writing his own stories any more. Wish you were still here.
--
Rob Kelk
Sticks and stones can break your bones,
But words can break your heart.
- unknown
Rob Kelk
Sticks and stones can break your bones,
But words can break your heart.
- unknown