Job Interview
Stan Marsh thought: Fatass little douche.
Richard Hannon stood five-two and was nearly as wide. He had a brisk and prissy movement to his heavyset form that Stan had thought only Cartman could have achieved. Richard Hannon was a chestnut haired man who was beginning to grey due to his position, his liquid eye rippled with the same hues as his thining hair. But the sharp, crisp part to his hair spoke to Stan in hushed voice. It said to him; I am a man that can help you out of a tight jam but if you fuck with me, be prepared to have your life destroyed. The suit that stretched over his corpulent form was a different story it spoke to the paying customer: Hello Sir/ Madam, how may I assist you. Offsetting the dreariness of grey suit, a pink rose with sat unevenly in his lapel. If it wasn't for this wilting rose, Stan could have mistaken him for a grave robber. Or an ax murder
Stan shook his head, where had that come for, although now that he thought about it he could see the Richard Hannon stalking the red-light district, hiding a bloody axe in a trench coat. Stan could tell that this was a man that he wouldn't have liked to meet no matter the circumstances.
Hannon asked a question during Stan's musing and he had missed it. Which was bad; Stan figured the portly man had a mind like the United States archive, he filed everything in there for use later.
"I'm Sorry?"
"I said 'does your wife fully understand the undertaking that you are signing up for.' Also there is your son to consider." Hannon glace down at Stan's application, "Sean."
Stan smiled his big fake newspaper smile, "Yep he does, Kyle is a pretty wonderful man."
"Man?"
"That won't be a problem," Stan liked the look on the fomerly smug man's face, "Will it?"
"Oh, why of course not, but what about your son, is he as wonderful?"
Stan felt that a truthful smile replace his first one, " Yeah, we like to think he's pretty special. I mean he pretty advanced for a five-year-old. It's scary sometimes."
No returned smile from Hannon. Instead he just slipped Stan's application back into the manila folder from when it came and dropped the folder into the open top drawer of the file cabinet. Slamming that one closed, Hannon in a quick movement opened the bottom one and pulled out a thick roll of paper. The rolls were opened and covered the temporally bare desktop. Stan noted the blue paper and white lining as the indication of blueprints.
"Step around the desk and I want to show you the blue prints, Mr. Marsh." Hannon spoke sharply as he smoothed them with his hand.
Stan stood next to the man pressing his shoulder into Hannon's puffy one. It was then that the mixed smell of sweat and Irish Spring soap tap danced into his nose. Only real men use no cologne, woman enjoy me smelling like a pig sat in his mind and he had to nearly bit through his tongue to keep his gut full of laughter down. Outside the office Stan could hear the rush of feet heading to the dining room for lunch.
"The top floor," Hannon said promptly, "The attic nothing but there then riff-raff of furniture. Because when the Crestview Hotel has exchanged hands, which has been several times mind you, the new management puts anything it doesn't want up there. I would like you to rat-trap and poison the whole area. Several of the maids told me they heard scrapping noises up there. But I refuse to believe that a single germ-infested rat lives in this hotel." Hannon looked up to make sure Stan was listen; he was but he figured that every hotel, even ones at immaculate as the Crestview had at least two, "Of course you will keep you son away from there."
Who did this fatass little douche think he was. Only an idiot would allow their child to go play around with traps and poisons used to kill small animals. But Stan bite back the snide remark and let Richard Hannon continue his little rant. The first blueprint had vanished and a second one had been put out in its place.
Hannon voice grew light, like a proud father about their child "Third floor consists of thirty rooms, all of which are suites including the Presidential Suite. Ten of them on the West Wing, the same for the Central and East Wings; where the Presidential Suite sits and has the most stunning view of them all."
Could you at least spare with the sales pitch, I'm going to be working here not staying.
Stan watched again as one blueprint replace another, this time Stan caught the label First and Second floors. Hannon didn't even take a moments breath as he dived back into his purposed rant. "These two floor's are self-explanatory, same number of rooms in each wing; there are linen closets on the extreme east side of the Crestview's seconds floor and in the west on the first."
That blueprint vanished more quickly then the other two and the final print glared up at Stan. He hoped to God that this would be the end of Hannon's speech, but he feared Hannon was just warming up and he was going to have to listen to it all. "Lobby level, the registration desk is forty feet from any outer wall on the level; behind it of course are the offices (including this one), as well as the staff apartments. It also consists of the kitchen, dining room, Skyline Lounge, and of course the Emerald ballroom. Do you have any Questions?"
"Just about the basement," Stan said, " as caretaker this winter; that's the most important level for me. It's were the action is right?"
Hannon frowned deeply at the question for two reasons, firstly to show his utter distaste for the question as well as two, proving that as a manager he need not concern himself with things as trivial as the boiler and plumbing. "Jackson will show your that, and the floor plan is on the wall. He will tell you everything you need to know about how to run the facilities during the winter months. Oh! it might also not be a bad thing to put some traps down there."
A pad of paper flashed from Hannon's jacket pocket to the desk (each piece from the pad had From the desk of the Crestview manager, Richard Hannon in gold leaf )and then the pad disappeared with it companion pan after Hannon had quickly scribbled something out. It happened so fast it could have been magic; now-you-see-it Stanley, now-you-don't. This guy was a regular wild west badass.
In the time it had taken to write on the pad, they had taken to their original places; the employer and the employee or the master and slave depending on your point of view in the situation. Hannon folded his plump sausage like hands on his desk and looked at Stan with deep set eyes, he looked a lot like a huge toad. (Ribbit-ribbit, Mr. Hannon)
"I want to be frank with you, Mr. Marsh. The Crestview has show it's first profit this season in the longest of ages. Perhaps it's history. But even though our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Testaburger and his lovely daughter have decided to give you a chance. They are not hotel people, Mr. Marsh, they just aren't but the wanted you hired. And only God knows why but I will do so. But know this Mr. Marsh, if it were up to me you would set a single foot in this building this winter."
Stan's hand balled into fists in his lap, crunching up and sweating up the thighs of his khaki pants. Fatass little douche, Fatass little douche, Fatass-
"I think you don't care all that much for me do you, Mr. Marsh. Try and imagine how little I care about what you think. But don't get it confused your dislike for me and mine for you had not clouded my opinion of you. For you see during the in-season time there are one-hundred and fifty employees under my control; most of those people probably think of me a complete and utter douche bag. But they would be correct, for I must be this way if the hotel is to run the way it is suppose to be run."
He looked to Stan for a comment but Stan just flashed his newspaper smile and wide as he could; Big, toothy and full of fuck you.
" The Crestview was built in from 1905 to 1907 and it's closest town now is of course South park. But back then, Denver was the closest place to reach. During the winter the road down the mountain is closed off by on average twenty feet of snow. It was built by Ozwald Jackson, the grandfather of our current maintenance man. It was the rest stop for the jet-set, before there were even the thoughts of jets in peoples minds. The Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, Astors and the DuPonts have all stayed here. We have had four presidents stay here; Wilson, Roosevelt, Nixon and Clinton."
"I wouldn't be to proud of Nixon and Clinton if I were you." Stan muttered, biting back a bay of donkey laughter.
"In later years it was bought by a man named, Phillp Pirrip. Self-made millionaire, British entrepreneur and a complete gentlemen."
"I know the name." Stan said
"Yes then you know almost everything he touched turned to gold... the is except for the Crestview that is. The poor man funnel over a million dollars into the Crestview before a single guest returned to it after the war. But he did turn it around into a center for the wealthy again. He even added the roquet court that you admired out front."
"Roquet?"
" The British father of our American game, croquet. Mr. Pirrip was a master of the game and brought here with him when he took over. But even with all the this he did for the hotel it eventually sunk back into disrepair."
Topiary hedges, a roquet court on the front lawn. What could possible be next? A life-sized Janga game behind the hotel? Stan waited for Hannon to continue, which he did with great pleasure.
" Eventually, the hotel was bought up by Mr. Testaburger and his associates. They have brought it back to it glory over the years and even with a few set backs."
"Set backs?" Stan question lightly.
"Oh it's nothing important at all just we have had bad dealings with caretakers before. The first time I hired a family man instead of a single one. This man...this unfortunate man was named Glen Berdly. He had come up here with his wife and two lovely daughters. It turned out that he was a drunk." Stan felt a hot, sick smile grow over his features- the complete opposite of the newspaper smile. "Berdly, during the harshest part winter, loaded up on cheap scotch (which how he obtained is outside my knowledge), killed his wife and daughters as well as himself. He chopped up the girls with an axe, stacking the bodies in an obscure corner of the hotel. Then he found the hunting musket and killed his wife before turning it on himself. It was such a terrible mess."
Stan swallowed heavily before he croaked out, "I still don't see why you think I'm unfit to hold this job, I don't drink anymore."
"Yes Mr. Testaburger's daughter informed me of that, which is probably one of the few reason I'm not demanding to the board of trustees that you don't work here. I'm worried about you, your wife and/ or your son falling grips to cabin fever." Hannon rubbed a hand over his puffy cheek and grin patronizingly. "You do know what that is right?"
"Yes," Stan sighed, "it's a type of claustrophobia that forms when the same group of people are stuck in close quarter for a long time. But I don't see how that could be a problem with my family in a place this size. Plus if the T.V goes down we won't be bored; Kyle's got his art supplies," Stan noticed Hannon flinch, "I have the book I'm working on and Sean has his coloring books," another flinch, "puzzles and I am gonna teach him to read and write."
Richard Hannon looked satisfied finally and rose from his seat yet again. This time when he spook to Stan it sounded like he was trying to be his friend. "I'm going to let Jackson take you down into the basement so he can get you familiar with it's surroundings. As well as instruct you about the boiler. That is unless you have further questions?"
"Nope. None at all."
Hannon nodded, "I hope there are no hard feelings, I just want the Crestview in the best hands possible."
"No, no hard feelings." Stan muttered, flashing his big newspaper smile again. He was glad Mr. Richard Hannon hadn't wanted to shake hands with him. Because there were hard feelings. Every kind of them.