We Have Standards Here
Payment In Cash or Gold Only, But...
There are few joys in my life. The things I am looking forward to. For example, the royal blue ink of my antique French Henri Ottilie gold nibbed fountain pen when it leaves satisfactory marks in my ledger. When I put payment numbers beside names every fortnight. Neat and precise. The money our personnel makes then goes into square eggshell envelopes, personally addressed, with the hotel stamp watermarked into them. We have standards here.
We pay in cash, of course. No checks, no money orders, and heaven help us, no electronic payments will ever cross my desk. Never have, never will. Nothing trackable, traceable, evidentiary and potentially leading to future trouble shall keep us from doing our work. There is only one paper trail. My ledgers. In all honesty, the proprietor’s ledgers, but since I am the one who uses them, writes in them, does the math, they’re mine. You’ve heard of the proprietor, haven’t you?
If you were to work here, you would learn quickly to stop asking about documents, pay stubs, tax withholdings, and “direct deposit.” Otherwise you wouldn’t last long. This does not apply to you, of course, we would never hire you. It simply and truly pains me to say, but you are just not making the cut.
If you come here as a guest, well. We have displayed our request for payments in cash or gold. ONLY, I might add, and quite prominently. You cannot say we didn’t tell you. And I will gladly write you a note of funds received, stamped and dated on our hotel stationery. Remember, we have standards here. It gives me joy to write ‘paid in full’. I would love to reach that point with you soon.
Don’t worry, please, I’m not going to charge you any money for your stay. You don’t really qualify as a guest and you don’t have nearly enough to bother. Payments can be made in so many ways. You telling me what I asked you politely to tell me would be a perfectly fine way to erase your debt.
Where was I? Oh right, the money. As for where it goes? Many places. Some of it goes to work, gets spent just to keep the day to day business going. We need to keep the lights on, the sheets cleaned, and the bar stocked. None of these services and amenities are cheap. The amount of bleach alone. Well. Let’s not get into that. Not yet.
Some of the money gets stored in the safe. That safe is on the second floor and not a soul would suspect it being there, hidden behind just another ordinary room door. Or maybe the safe is on the fourth floor? Or it doesn’t exist at all? Don’t worry, we can take care of our valuables. We are highly equipped at the hotel, as you can see, and we have exceptionally high standards. The rest of the money flows upwards to my employer. The “big kahuna”, the proprietor of this fine establishment. Minus personal allowances, per diem, petty cash for “incidents,” whatever falls on the floor. Oh, and tips, of course. Which are all well deserved. Don’t you think?
I do not like to be interrupted when I work the desk. It calms me. A sort of transcendent meditation if you would. And unless otherwise preoccupied with the need, I never sit. Sitting kills. Where was, oh, - I do not like being interrupted in general. Alas, interruption is the single constant variable when everyone; brothers, sisters, neighbors, cousins, even Moira, and whoever the hell else can remember your name and official title relies on you.
Yes, we can help fix the leaky faucet. Yes, we can order you flowers to your room. Yes, we can reserve that table. Yes, we can arrange that meeting. Yes, we can provide that entertainment. Yes, we can take care of your little and not so little mishaps. We have standards here and we are terribly good at what we do.
I just wish you had standards as well. Standards comparable to ours. Far be it from me to mention anything publicly. My lips are sealed, my tongue obligingly still. My discretion edged in stone. However, I will judge your sartorial choices, your obnoxious behaviors, your lapses in propriety, your indecencies, and your blunders. You will not hear a single sound from me, but you’ll know. If you have eyes and the wherewithal to notice personnel, you will. And believe me when I say to you, I am not the only one. Bishop, Valentine, even the maids and the plumber, we all have our standards. And we would very much enjoy it if you would meet them. Which so far, you, my friend, have not. Not even a little bit.
You see, having to deal with your particular stubbornness is keeping me away from my spot. You know what that means? Missed phone calls, mail piling up instead of being sorted, ledgers not being up to date and guests having to be more patient than is preferably called for. Is that fair to the hotel, the people working here, me? Don’t you think it would be much better if you told me what I want to know? Yes? Oh, and don’t worry about that carpet. We have vast quantities of potato starch and also gallons and gallons of bleach. And mark my words, I’m not a liar by any means, you can see I’m a very serious man, and I have trained the maids to my standards.
This Week at the Nine Story Hotel
Monday
finishes the story of the Sisters, poisonous Greek whores who have lost their triplet to a mysterious killing.Tuesday
continues to take the madman who isn’t there looking for a pair of golden coins left on a corpse.Wednesday
CJ Stockton and a young Althea Parker, born of the hotel and completely mad, meets her new teacher, Miss Delphine, who may be a bit of a bitch.Thursday
will have the next entry following the transient living in a van behind the hotel, Nerisse, speaking in riddles and generally causing confusion in her secrecy.Friday we rest. We DO have standards around here.
Saturday is
with the second delirious and gruesome revenge story that is Pink Nightmares pt. 2And Sunday? More of this.
