Feedback: Hell, yes. Beden65
One Of Those Days
The day wasn't going the way he'd hoped, though it was going the way he expected once the track had been set. He'd gotten up around six or so, started breakfast, putting the eggs on the counter to achieve room temperature, made the dough for the fresh muffins, set the oranges out, sliced them and squeezed them into fresh juice.
Glancing out the large dining room windows as he approved the table with one setting he silently sighed to see the darkening overcast, increasing wind and beginnings of rain, though there was nothing to be done about it. Returning to the kitchen he continued his preparations for the master's solitary breakfast. In due course the blueberry muffins were baked, the bacon was crisp, the eggs light and fluffy with all on the table. Juice and coffee in place he turned as his nominal employer entered the dining room.
"I'm running late this morning, sorry." And he was gone, the door of Maserati closing with a solid thud moments before the engine roared to life, fading down the long drive.
The rest of the day went along on the same path. One of the antique crystal wine glasses became cracked when he washed it, barely touching the lip to the metal faucet. It was irreparable. The usually quite good dry cleaners were apologetic about the ruin of one of the masters' bespoke sport's jackets. Both of the day maids called in sick, though he suspected the wish to start the weekend early was the cause of the 'ailments'. The vacuum clogged, the smell of burning rubber filled the library. The mail became soaked when he accidentally slipped with it and dropped the entire pile in a puddle. They lost power due to the storm, causing the head electrician to discover that the backup generators had suffered wiring damage due to, of all things, nesting rats and would have to be either replaced or repaired. Due to age, replacement was recommended. He somehow spilled some kerosene when he was lighting the Coleman lanterns making a stench and necessitating another clean up. He snagged his favorite sweater on a cabinet handle and tore it.
An ancient oak tree planted by the Master's great great grandfather was hit by lightning, causing it to fall, blocking the main drive and starting a fire which, luckily, was extinguished by the now driving rain. The tree people were busy on other jobs but would attempt to get there as soon as they could. No promises.
Some days...
Backup power was restored after six hours, causing him to reset every electronic device in the house; ovens, clocks, DVD players...over thirty machines.
He'd removed the steak from the refrigerator and marinated the thing, washed the potatoes for roasting and mixed the dressing for the salad which was cooling in the fridge. The fresh bread was just in the oven to be ready and hot for the evening meal. Checking the reset clock he saw that the master should be home within ten minutes; he was nothing if not punctual and always considerate should he be detained.
Three hours later the power threatened another failure with several minute long blackouts causing the clocks to begin blinking again and the baking bread left to it's own devices, fallen and ruined. A secretary phoned to inform him that Mr. Wayne was stuck in a meeting and had asked her to let him know not to expect him for dinner. Of course.
He put everything away, wiped down the counters and was just turning to retire and put the day behind him when the kitchen door unexpectedly opened, finally bringing the first small smile of the day to the old man.
"Hey Alf, 'hope I'm not too late—I brought a cake...What, you thought I'd forget?" The young man trailed off, water dripping off his leather jacket, muddy footprints ghosting his entrance. His expression expectant, a soaking and beginning to collapse cardboard box containing a too sweet supermarket butter cream cake complete with blue roses carefully set on the clean counter before he put his arms around his grandfather. "Happy birthday."
5/10/15