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Stag Party

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 26, 2012 by javedbabar

TJ didn’t have to wait for complaints from guests. He heard the noise for himself from the lobby. It must be the people who had booked out the second floor. He tried calling their rooms but there was no answer, and the woman who had booked the rooms didn’t answer her cell phone either; she probably couldn’t hear it. TJ had no choice but to go up himself.

The Lucerne Valley Hotel was often rowdy, but only in the bar area. There was a strict noise policy for the rooms, especially after ten p.m. He tried to recall the guests’ appearance, but realized they had checked in before his shift started, and none had been down since. He wondered what were they doing up there. He was about to find out.

Deep house music filled the corridor, causing the mirrors to shake. It stopped suddenly when he knocked on the door. Why did people always do that? As if that made them less guilty or changed anything.

A flash of white light blinded him when the door opened. Before he knew what was happening, he was pulled in, whirled around, and captured in a net. The music began blasting again and he was dragged into the centre of the room.

TJ was glad that he was 20% android. A full human would have been scared and probably fainted or peed himself. He had at worst blown a few transistors, which were easily replaced.

He heard shouts and shrieks, and felt the voices were familiar. Their frequency and amplitude were known to him. He steadied his perception and looked between the holes in the net. The first person he saw was Mr Kazantzakis, the hotel’s Lifetime GM.

TJ was scared. The LGM was fearsome in business, and had killed at least one person for threatening the hotel’s welfare, but what had TJ done? He was a reliable worker, clocking up four years of service, with never any complaints.

Mr Kazantzakis said, “Ha! You didn’t think you could get away with it that easily, did you?” TJ wondered what he meant. It was true that he helped himself to a drink from the USM (Universal Spirits Machine) most nights, but what was the cost of that to the hotel? A few cents per night. Surely it wasn’t that.

Through the net TJ saw a dozen of his best friends, some from Lucerne and others from the city. Then it dawned on him and he began smiling. Mr Kazantzakis said, “Ah! You know now. Your friends tell me you are getting married next month and are not having a stag night. You have refused and ignored their invites. So they have decided to come to you.”

He turned to TJ’s friends and said, “Gentleman, I will leave you now. Lucerne Valley Hotel is pleased to host this important ritual for our staff member. You have permission to do whatever you want. He’s all yours. Goodnight.”

TJ’s friends made him smash plates and cups, saying it signified the end of his adolescent lifestyle and his transition to responsible marital life. They made him wear a French maid’s outfit and dust the room. This was clearing out his old ways. They made him watch a rom com so he could “understand girls,” and sing a Celine Dion song to become “more romantic”. They made him dress as a woman to “enhance empathy,” and call a marriage guidance helpline, so he wouldn’t be shy if he needed to do so again.

There was a knock at the door. Two people entered, a male and a female, both wearing lipstick and leathers.

His friends asked, “Which one do you want to entertain you? And remember we may decide to accept your wish, or to do the opposite.” This would teach him the crucial lesson that sometimes with your wife, whatever you do, you just can’t win.

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High Security

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2012 by javedbabar

TJ called the Chief Housekeeper and asked, “Is no one coming over today? I mean to get the daily security data? It is already five a.m. Okay, see you in ten minutes. I will be here.”

You’d think they would know by now, but he had to remind them daily. Maybe six months ago you could skip a day, but these days, no way. The Lucerne Valley Hotel had a reputation to maintain. Their business depended on it.

He was only the night-receptionist, but knew that all must play their part. So much had changed in the industry. He recalled when hotel rooms had mechanical locks, the first time around. Every guest received a key and most guests returned them when checking out, however some keys were lost in town, some taken home by mistake, and some deliberately with the notion of committing future crimes.

The Lifetime GM, Mr Kazantzakis, invested in a new system of key cards. They were coded at reception and opened guests’ doors during their stays. The cards became invalid upon checkout, and were erased and reused.

It was a very good system but as with everything these days, hackers worked out a way to override it. They placed the cards into portable readers and stole their codes. TJ was sorry to say that part-androids like himself were more guilty than most; they had a knack for manipulating technology. There was a spate of free stays and break-ins at the hotel. Something had to be done.

They moved to a fingerprint system which again seemed invincible, but the quality of digital cameras these days was such that eating crisps with your beer became a risky act; one greasy fingerprint was enough to undermine security. RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) tags suffered a similar fate. Hackers found a way to pick up tags’ signals with cell phones, which could then act as keys.

Iris scans were a heavy investment, but Mr Kazantzakis felt they were worth it for Executive floors. They worked well for a month before a rush of laptop thefts from female executives’ rooms. Staff discovered micro-cameras installed behind mirrors in female washrooms. They took sharp shots of women applying their eye shadow and mascara.

People’s wallets, laptops, and identities were being stolen, the latter for months, even years. It was hard these days to prove that you were not you. The hotel tried secret codes, secret information, and security tokens, but these also failed.

A housekeeper mentioned that her grandpa, a Luddite and regular gambler, had suggested a system involving interchangeable mechanical locks. There were fifty guest rooms in the hotel requiring locking. If they placed two rusty old locks, each requiring a good five minutes to open, on each door, and swapped a fifth of them around each day, opportunistic criminals would simply get bored of trying and failing. Each entry attempt would require at least ten minutes of work, with only a two percent of two percent chance of success.

Now there was a sheet of daily security data, saying which locks were to be swapped. This, combined with a password from the lobby, puzzling knots securing items, and fake locks that could be set anywhere in the building, ensured the good reputation of the Lucerne Valley Hotel. It held an unassailable four star security rating.

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Happy Hours

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 24, 2012 by javedbabar

Mr Kazantzakis, the Lifetime General Manager of the Lucerne Valley Hotel, called TJ into his office. He said, “I have noticed that the bar takings are down again this month. This is the third month in a row. Do you know why?”

TJ was confused. He was only the night-receptionist, so why was Mr Kazantzakis asking him? And then he thought, does he think I am stealing money? An irregular wave of worry crossed his face, and a sheen of sweat appeared upon his forehead and temples.

Mr Kazantzakis must have seen this, and said, “I have asked the barman already. He is good at mixing drinks, but not so good at mixing thoughts. He has no idea why people are buying fewer drinks. They are some of our highest margin items, and that’s why I called you in. I want your input. Have you noticed anything different recently?”

TJ focussed his thoughts, which caused another wave to cross his face, but this time a steadier one with less splashback. “We have had more men than women coming in, so fewer cocktails sold. But the men have been ordering micro-brews, so we’re increasing sales value.” The wave slowed and disintegrated. “Ah! Some guests have asked if we have a Happy Hour. When I’ve said no, they have gone elsewhere for their evening’s drinking. Come to think of it, there have been quite a few…”

“So you think that holding a Happy Hour would help?”

“Business increased by fifty percent when we tried it before.”

Mr Kazantzakis winced. Yes, it had been a successful promotion, but The Authority had instructed him to end such activities “promoting immoderate consumption” of alcoholic drinks. He had been told to keep prices above the set minimums. No half-price drinks were allowed. Rather than quibble, Mr Kazantzakis had ended the promotion. A man must choose his battles wisely. There must be ways around the ban though.

The LGM liked empowering people. He understood the benefits of creating high-performance, leaderless teams, as long as they did what he wanted, of course. He said, “Okay TJ, please develop a theme and launch a Happy Hour next week.” He saw sweat build upon TJ’s temples. “I am sure you will do a great job.”

TJ didn’t know where to start. He hadn’t been involved in the previous promotion, and it hadn’t continued for long. Half-priced drinks, double-sized drinks, and free food were all banned. What was left?

Happy Hour. Where had the term come from? he wondered. He plugged into the e-library and found it was originally a nautical expression indicating scheduled entertainment. Long periods spent at sea created stress and boredom, which affected sailors’ mental health, and petty frustrations led to fights. To combat these dangers captains arranged weekly bouts of boxing and wrestling, accompanied by drinking and singing. At dusk on Friday nights many ships would be rocking, regardless of sea conditions.

TJ printed posters saying “Avast Ye Landlubbers! Fight, Sing & Drink All Night at HMS Lucy, the Captain’s Hotel”. He wasn’t sure if Mr Kazantzakis would approve of this theme. Maybe it wasn’t an image he wished to promote.

Things went well on the first Friday night. The bar was rowdy, featuring many forms of debauchery, and its captain of chaos seemed to be the LGM. He was stripped to the waist, downing tankards, kissing girls, singing shanties, and trading punches with all comers. When he saw TJ, he began shouting, “You’re fired! You’re fired!”

Was he really saying that TJ was fired?

No he wasn’t.

“You’re tired! You’re tired!” His words were slurred but enthusiastic. “Good job TJ! Take the night off!”

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Semi-Automatic

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 23, 2012 by javedbabar

When Mr Kazantzakis’ business executive guests became crime targets, his booking agents panicked. They were getting bad press and stopped sending guests.

There was no need to panic though. Mr Kazantzakis was a solution-orientated individual. He wasn’t Lifetime General Manager of the Lucerne Valley Hotel without reason. He hired a team of security guards to keep an eye on guests. The guards were vigilant both inside and outside the building, and accompanied business executives around town.

One of the guards, Russell, asked to see the LGM. He said, “This should be a professional job. Being a security guard is a matter of life and death.”

Lucerne had a serious problem. There were many professional jobs available but few unskilled ones. Everybody wanted a professional job. The hours were shorter, the workload was lighter, the pay was better and you didn’t get dirty or wet. However few people were sufficiently well-qualified or well-connected, or filled the right quotas, and thus eligible for such jobs.

Opportunities for pencil pusher were endless, but hammer hitters were a different matter. The Authority’s Job Upgrade Plan had created an imbalance. Most manual jobs had been automated or abolished. There were very few jobs for unprofessional people.

With almost fifty percent unemployment, civic order had crumbled. The number of armed and ordinary robberies, stealth and aggravated burglaries, bag-snatchings, car-jackings, violent muggings and kidnappings all rose exponentially. A lack of work led to poverty, boredom, stress and anger, and there were rumours of an imminent uprising, which people were calling the Arcadian Spring.

Mr Kazantzakis was the right man for a crisis. Though the business may tilt or even sink partially, he always provided the anchor or ballast required. He was a man you could rely on. Investment cycles were calculated in fifty year terms, and he was the man to ensure long-term returns.

Mr Kazantzakis said to Russell, “But it is not a skilled job. That’s what elevates a task, the level of training and experience. Anyone could walk into this hotel, I could give them a uniform, and they’d be a security guard, and….”

“You are wrong, Mr Kazantzakis,” said Russell. The LGM was stunned. Nobody ever interrupted him.

“I am following a timeless warrior tradition. In ancient Greece there was Achilles, in India there was Arjuna, in China, Lu Tung-Pin, and in Scandinavia, Beowulf. In the Middle Ages there were archers, bowmen and palace guards, all elite soldiers guarding the king. During the American Revolution, marksmen picked off British officers, helping to win battles. In Napoleonic wars, infantry soldiers learnt how to use the Baker rifle, which was slower to load but very accurate. In modern warfare, specialists take Annual Personal Weapons Tests, and must score above 85% of maximum score. They scout and delay the enemy in close combat. They put their lives on the line. Do you not think we deserve to be called professionals?

“What will you do if I don’t promote you? Will you leave?”

Russell pulled out a semi-automatic pistol and laid it on the table. “I will kill you.”

Mr Kazantzakis liked his style. This was a man he could count on in a crisis. He said, “I am not sure if I can change the job spec to professional, but let’s say semi-professional.”

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Lifetime GM

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 22, 2012 by javedbabar

Because he worked the nightshift, TJ hadn’t seen much of Mr Kazantzakis, who was either in his office or remained in his room. Mr Kazantzakis had run the Lucerne Valley Hotel for twenty years and was scheduled to continue for twenty more. The hospitality industry realized the value of loyalty and required senior employees to commit for life.

Mr Kazantzakis’ title was Lifetime General Manager, but it would be more appropriate to say Working Lifetime General Manager. His contract expired when he hit sixty-five. TJ had once asked him what happened after that.

It was the only time that Mr Kazantzakis had avoided a question. He had turned away from TJ and wiped something from his eye, his snow white hair shook a little, and when he turned back his moustache was wet. TJ never again asked him about his future.

Mr Kazantzakis was a hospitality services professional. He was responsible for all areas of the business – revenue and costs, marketing and sales, effective planning, delegating, coordinating, staffing, organizing, decision making, and other day-to-day operations. He had ultimate authority over the hotel and reported directly to its owner. Mr Kazantzakis managed the management team, created and enforced business objectives, oversaw projects and renovations, and handled emergencies and other issues involving guests, employees, the facility, the media, local government and suppliers. His contract also stated that he had “Many Additional Duties”, whose acronym was MAD.

In his time working there, TJ had only disturbed the LGM four times during the night.

The first time was when a group of friends had booked out the second floor. They had a very noisy party and many guests complained to reception. TJ went up three times to ask them to keep the noise down, but to no avail. He had no choice but to wake Mr Karantzakis. The LGM went up to the second floor, saw that people were having good clean fun, and instead of closing down the party, invited all the other guests along. He said, “You are up now anyway, so you may as well enjoy yourselves.”

The second time was when TJ had double-booked the entire hotel. Four buses pulled in simultaneously and two hundred people poured into the reception area, wanting their rooms. TJ panicked and called the LGM, who sized up the guests, chatted to a few, and declared that this would be a Swinging Sixties weekend, with two couples in every room. It was a good way for people to make new friends; how good was entirely up to them. There were no requests for refunds.

The third time was when police were searching for a murder suspect. A witness said that earlier that night, she had seen the victim entering the Lucerne Valley Hotel. The police wanted to question every guest there. The LGM turned the procedure into a Whodunnit? game for the guests, and loaned the police inspector his chequered jacket and pipe “to look like Sherlock Holmes”. He asked TJ to play Watson.

The fourth time was when a guest slipped in a puddle of beer that he had himself spilt moments earlier, and threatened to sue the hotel. The LGM took the man into his office and that guest was never seen again. Later that night the LGM asked TJ to remove a heavy wet bag from his office, and gave him a packet containing $10,000, which he said was for “Inhospitality services.”

The next morning at 6a.m. TJ heard heavy footsteps coming down the main stairwell. He was tempted to say, “Good morning, Deathtime GM.”

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Higgs Boson

Posted in Alternative Energy, Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 21, 2012 by javedbabar

Scientists are a strange bunch, thought TJ. In his four years of working as Lucerne Valley Hotel’s night-receptionist, he had seen all kinds of people, but these nerds were something else. He had no complaints about their manners, it was their thoughts that troubled him. Their brains. Did they ever use them? And if so, did they manage to do so successfully?

TJ was busier than ever. These men, and a few women, were the most incompetent beings he had ever known. Not just socially incompetent, with their awkward gestures and jumbled words, but functionally incompetent; they were unable to execute the simplest tasks.

They repeatedly asked him which rooms they were in; they called to ask how the kettle worked; they didn’t know how to switch on the TV, and if they managed to, were unable to adjust its volume or change channel – but had no trouble finding adult channels and turning them up to full blast. They burnt themselves, or black-fringed iron-shapes right through their suits. They couldn’t figure out which switches operated which lights so often read books in near darkness, or slept in bright light, at least for a while before calling him for help.

TJ spoke to every guest, he guessed, ten times daily, and after two days knew each one by name. The only exceptions were male scientists who had brought along their wives. They seemed to cope better with hotels, giving the impression that they were competent beings in touch with the modern world. They never credited their wives for this, but TJ knew better.

This morning the scientists were leaving. TJ realized that he had been so busy with requests for extra tea bags and toilet rolls, remote control batteries, and more shampoos – not that they needed any for their eggheads – that he didn’t know why they had come here.

While Dr Simoniski studied his bill, TJ asked about his stay.

“My stay? Here? Oh yes! The hotel? It was very good, thank you. It is pretty big for a B&B. Much bigger than I expected.”

TJ said, “Sir, it is not a B&B. It is a fifty-room hotel.”

“Oh yes! You are right. I had a mix up. That was when I was in Lucerne, Switzerland.”

“Were you there on holiday?”

“Holiday! Holiday!” Dr Simonski laughed uncontrollably. “Holiday!” He looked at his wife coming down the stairs. “He said holiday!” Then he turned back to TJ. “There is no time for holidays. I was visiting the Large Hadron Collider, searching for the Higgs boson particle. Have you heard of it? Good, good. It is an elementary particle of the Standard Model of particle physics, and predicted to exist for theoretical reasons. It creates a field with non-zero strength everywhere, even in otherwise empty spaces! Identical particles can also exist in the same place!” His enthusiasm caused his mouth to foam lightly.

TJ asked, “If it is only theoretical, how can you detect it?”

“It is unstable and decays into other particles almost immediately. That’s what the Large Hadron Collider picks up – their atomic signatures.” Sweat appeared on his egg head. He finished checking the bill and said, “That’s why we are here. To celebrate its discovery.”

“Have you found it, really? Where is it?”

“Oh, in a very special place. No wonder it took so long.” He smiled at his wife and handed her the bill to sign.

She had the craziest signature that TJ had ever seen. The ink flowed everywhere – in lines, dots, jets, and scribbles. She smiled weakly and said, “It was in my handbag all along. I didn’t want to steal his thunder. I’ve got a few of them in there.”

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One Million Square Foot Conversion

Posted in Lucerne Village, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 20, 2012 by javedbabar

Angstrom stepped out of the limousine. He was greeted by a woman in a sharp blue skirt-suit and flat black shoes; even in those, she was taller than he was. Her red hair was striking, in a similar way to the top of a match.

She smiled as if on demand and said, “Good morning, Mr Angstrom. Mr Haza thanks you for coming at short notice. Have you visited this building before?”

Angstrom said, “I did many years back when it was a storage depot. I came here with my father. It was the biggest building that I had ever seen. I wanted to visit all the floors and walk every corridor, and when we had to leave, I cried.”

The woman smiled on demand again and said, “Well, we hope this visit doesn’t end the same way.”

Angtrom tried to remember if he’d visited again during the time it was a factory, but couldn’t recall. How long had it been lying empty now? He had seen the For Sale sign go up, and remain for years, before coming down. He had briefly thought of buying the place himself, but how would he raise the money and what would he do with it?

He imagined creating an artwork called Infinity by filling the whole place with mirrors. There were ten floors of one hundred thousand square feet each. It would seem go on forever. Rather than a place of economic production, consumption and child rearing, it would be a place of self-reflection. We are all nomads between lives.

The woman indicated a small room on the top floor and said, “Mr Haza would like you to turn this space into a luxury suite for his private use.”

“Just this space?” said Angstrom. “It is barely one hundred square feet.”

“Yes, Mr Haza is not an ostentatious man. His preferred style is simple. Will you consider the commission?”

“Not if I am being paid by the square foot!” said Angstrom.

The woman smiled and said, “No, there will be a fee reflecting your professional stature. Mr Haza is aware that you are considered by many to be the best architect in Arcadia.”

Angstrom started work on the job that week He designed a self-contained studio, a place of comfort and light, related to the rest of the building but apart from it, creating a harmonious juncture. It was a jewel in a trunk of armour. A soprano with her mouth closed in the sea.

When he took the plans for sign off, the woman said, “Mr Haza is pleased with what you’ve done so far. He requests that you expand the scale of the design to become a one thousand square foot apartment.”

Angstrom was used to clients testing him with a little project before instructing him on a larger one. He designed the one thousand square foot apartment, creating a masterpiece of open dynamics and gentle flow, with multi-use, multi-occupancy potential.

When he took these plans for sign off, the woman said that he should expand the scale to a 10,000 square foot home. A month later he had done so. She then requested that he scale this across an entire floor to create a 100,000 square foot legacy project This was further expanded to fill the entire million square feet. Money was no object, he was told. It should be built to last forever.

Angstrom realized that the task had changed from a physical conception of home, as a place of residence and refuge, to a virtual one, in computer terminology, a starting view. One tiny space had taken over the whole building. He had a fresh challenge now, how to keep a tiny space – say 100 square feet – of the original structure. It was important to preserve heritage.

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Spine Knot Syndrome

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 19, 2012 by javedbabar

Amir went to the Ancient Asian Acupuncture clinic. He had a strange lump at the base of his spine. It wasn’t troubling him really, there was no irritation or pain, he couldn’t even call it a swelling. It seemed like a misplaced knuckle on his back.

He felt throbbing which felt energetic rather than depleting. He had picked up this terminology from his old girlfriend, Shakti, who claimed to be a yogini and had introduced him to Tantric Sex. This was like normal sex but favoured women.

Incense and gymnastics were involved, and it went on forever. Shakti scored every time, but things went on for so long that he sometimes failed. Despite his best efforts, she left him for her guru eventually, a rascal named Ozwald Malchizedek, aka OM. Amir had met him a few times and…

His doctor said, “Amir, please come in. Yes, I have looked into the matter. You have a bolus connected to all seven nerve centres. I found references in ancient textbooks to SKS: Spine Knot Syndrome, which arises from energetic imbalance, but can also be beneficial. Think of it as grit in an oyster creating extreme irritation, and the oyster produces layer upon layer of material to coat the grit and make it bearable. The result is a gleaming pearl, prized worldwide.”

“I don’t get it,” said Amir. “What’s happening to my body?”

“Okay, relax, you are tensing the right side of your body. Let it go, and again, good, that’s it. You’ve had a nerve trauma, entirely energetic, but you can see the physical manifestation. The affected part sends signals to every part of your body crying ‘Help!’

“As energetic conductors your nerves follow spiritual principles, such as Love thy neighbor as thyself. They greet the damaged nerve and make it welcome.”

Amir shifted. The doctor said, “Please be still. I am sensing the best treatment.”

After five minutes he said, “Okay, I’ve got it. What’s the best way of explaining it to you? Erm…Okay, I’ll try a domestic analogy. The body is like a house, and each part is a room. I’ll run through your physical real estate from bottom to top.

“Your bowels are your basement, where unwanted items accumulate, and they should be emptied regularly.

“Your genitals are your bathroom, a place to expel unwanted fluids, maybe an en-suite bathroom, leading on to the bedroom.

“Your stomach is your kitchen, full of food.

“Your heart is your lounge, a place you meet people or rest alone.

“Your throat is your entry hall, where you chit-chat in passing.

“Your third eye is your bedroom, where you sleep and dream.

“Lastly – we could say, ultimately – your crown is your loft, a place of elevated thoughts.

“Your house is looking shabby though. Are you ready for some renovations?”

After a month of weekly sessions, Amir found that he was eliminating more toxins, having less sex, eating less food, watching less TV, chatting less, sleeping less, and meditating more often. He was transforming into an energetically integrated being.

He was also becoming smug and irritating. Not everyone saw the oyster forming inside the pearl. People rolled their eyes when he spoke of his “physical real estate”, and began to avoid him. Amir was in a knotty bind.

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House Sitter Wanted

Posted in Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 18, 2012 by javedbabar

Adil withdrew fifty dollars from the ATM. He knew he was overdrawn but couldn’t do much about that. A man needs cash in his pocket, even if he doesn’t own it.

He stopped at the noticeboard behind the machine to glance at the ads. He saw a jet ski, ski gear, and a mobile home. Maybe if he had a win on the lottery, say twenty thousand bucks, he could buy them all.

There was a note saying Assorted Items for Sale, detailing hand tools, a tool belt, pulleys, ropes, chains and a harness. It was useful stuff for a construction job. Maybe he could bargain the vendor down from $200 to under $100.

He was about to note down the number when he spotted another ad behind it, saying House sitter wanted, with room and wage.

For someone who wasn’t working at present, and who was sleeping on a friend’s couch, that was a mighty attractive offer. He’d recently applied for gardening, retail, cleaning and security jobs without success. It seemed that Lucerne had an excess of unskilled workers, somebody had told him “more than ten per job.” Professional jobs were a different matter. It was a shame he lacked qualifications.

Adil called the number. A man answered, “Hello, Lucerne Valley Rentals.”

“Hi, I am calling about the ad for the house sitter…”

“Which one? Does it have a reference number? We advertise many properties.”

Adil reread it. “I am sorry, I can’t see one.”

“Look carefully please. Is there a name or number?”

Adil looked again. “No there isn’t. It just says House sitter wanted, with room and wage. If you…”

The agent interrupted. “Okay, I know the one. It is in the valley, ten kilometres out of town. Do you have a car?”

Adil lied, “Yes I do.”

“Good, you will need it there. The client is a very private person. His name will not be revealed to the sitter, and you cannot tell anyone where you are. You can receive no visitors while there. You will receive a free room and a weekly allowance of a hundred dollars, plus a wage of a hundred dollars a day, payable at the end of each month. How does that sound?”

The client was clearly a secretive individual. Adil didn’t ask any more questions.

After sending Adil’s photo and resume to the client, and performing background checks, the agent said that he’d got the job on a one month rolling contract.

He said, “You start today.”

Adil chatted to his brother that night. “The house is a little strange. It has minimal furnishings, and hooks and rings on the walls. The owner must have removed the old fittings in a hurry. I wonder what he’ll put there instead. It seems like a big house from the outside but the inside is pokey, with very thick walls. Do you remember that castle we went to in Spain? It’s a bit like that. I’ve looked for hidden doors and panels. Yes, I’ve checked the bookcases and none of them slide back, and the paintings don’t have hollow eyes…”

The owner of the house wondered how long Adil would keep talking. He had sneaked out of a trapdoor while his new sitter was showering, and slipped some Rohypnol into his coffee. He crouched down with chains, ropes and harnesses at the ready, and smiled, recalling Adil’s comment about paintings with hollow eyes. With CCTV and infra-red goggles available, who used those these days? You only saw them in old horror films. He preferred making modern ones, with live action.

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Hundred Million Dollar House

Posted in Lucerne Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 17, 2012 by javedbabar

“Do you want mahogany window frames?”

“Shall I varnish this door with pearlescent coating?”

“Do you prefer a seamed metal roof for the garage, or diamond pattern?”

“Which colour siding looks best, dark blue or brown? The brown is eco-paint, which is twice the price.”

“Shall we install a 50 kilowatt diesel generator?”

“Do you want fibre-optic cable?”

“How about a vertical closed loop geothermal field?”

The other workers ribbed David continuously. They kept asking him for decisions concerning the hundred million dollar house. The plans for the house were drawn, stamped and approved already, but it was a game they enjoyed playing.

Sometimes they went too far and David became moody, but it was his own fault really. He had started the joke that he was the owner of the house, and had joined the crew to ensure they did a good job. They had no idea who the owner was, as he was obscured by lawyers and managers, so they happily played along.

They never did what David said though. In fact they often did the opposite, for which he said he would fire them later. This made them laugh.

As the house neared completion, sign-off was needed for various components. The lawyers said that the owner was unavailable, and the builders should just proceed as contractually agreed.

“God damn those lawyers!” said the foreman. “They tell us to carry on as if its child’s play. Sure we know what we’re doing, I am a third generation builder, but we need to confirm they are happy with the work so far. It will be mighty expensive making changes later.”

“Well, why don’t you ask me? I am here,” said David.

“Quit fooling around now. I’m not in the mood. There’s millions of dollars at stake. It’s not a game.”

“Okay,” said David, walking away. “I was just trying to help.”

“Well then shut your mouth and stick your help up your ass!” The foreman was annoyed, but then forgot about it.

Some days later he thought, what if David really is the owner? That would explain a few things. We give him the crappiest jobs: mudding and taping, sweeping and washing, rubbish and recycling, but he’s always smiling. He’s never had a day off and never gets annoyed. He knows a lot about construction, more than any casual laborer should. What if he really is the boss?

The foreman called him over. “Tell me honestly, son, are you the owner of this house?”

A smile crossed David’s lips, but also a look of horror. “No, I am not.”

The foreman could tell when someone was lying. He knew that David was lying.

After that, they did whatever David said. They installed marble steps and copper railings. They lengthened the swimming pool. They built a root cellar. They added gables.

When the house was finished, they met the owner, Daniel, an older man from the city. He shouted at them, saying, “Why the hell did you make all those changes? They were not on the plan!”

Daniel was pleased with the job his nephew David had done. He’d got them to make many expensive changes that he wasn’t going to pay for. He’d also demand a discount on the house, maybe ten percent. David’s commission would come out of that. It would help him finish acting school.

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