"Honestly, I thought you were joking about the inquiry," the manager said as he rubbed his bald head. He then raised a piece of paper. My resume, which has witnessed countless rejections.

"No big deal, those new hotels didn't prefer to hire people from the bottom of the achiever's list,” I rubbed my hair, letting out a faint sigh, “Although, you seem to be far different from the others, sir…”

“Louie.”

“Yes. Sir Louie, but it seems I had trouble finding the place so I assumed it was somewhere along this street. But it turns out it was this building.”

“Yes, people gave off that impression, I should really fix the lights next time. But before that, let’s see if you qualify.” He then grabbed my resume and laid it on the table.

“So, John, you graduated with a major in culinary arts, you have experience working as a line cook in a home restaurant?” He then looked up.

“It’s my parent’s restaurant, I worked there during my college years, but I ventured out to try something new and here I am.”

“I see, well what experience do you have in working in a motel kitchen?”

As long as I have a kitchen to work with, I can cook you something more..." I tried to avoid his gaze and failed, "appetizing and fitting for this establishment," I chuckled.

He smiled back, "I'm sure it will all be delicious. Well, your qualifications are okay and we are not really looking for experience, but since we are short on staff….” He returned the paper over the table, “Now, you do understand that while I can provide staff lodgings, you can always stay in your apartment or your parents---"

"Oh, I am good staying here, I prefer to stay closer to my workplace as much as possible," I interjected immediately, shaking my briefcase. "So, where will I be staying?"

"I see , right this way." The manager gestured the hallway to his left. I followed him while the lobby was littered with echoes of beds creaking, rodents scattering from somewhere, and the loudest one was the old chandelier that had seen better days. Also, yes there was actual litter and dust all over the furniture.

The hallway was a silent and dark horror movie, there was no decor other than old renaissance paintings that seemingly looks back at you if you look at them. Lights were flickering or the filaments died out years ago. Doors staring at each other, and the end was another door with a plaque that says "Manager."

"Now, this is where I was supposed to stay if I had the time to sleep," he grinned, "but I just stayed behind the table at the lobby with the coffee maker at my side." He grabbed a key from his pocket and turned the lock. The room was quite nice, it had two double-decker beds, a small lounge area, a kitchenette, and a TV. It reminds me of my college dorm room, only less parties and less drunk roommates microwaving eggs for breakfast with the fork inside.

It seemed that this used to be an executive suite of some sort, but the manager seems to have converted it into a staff dorm room instead. I opened the door leading to a bathroom and it only had one shower, a toilet, and a dual sink. There are a couple of empty bottles of shampoo and conditioner and a lonely bar of soap. Someone is clearly using it quite a lot.

"You see, this used to be the presidential suite; well, it was planned to be one, but somebody built it on the ground floor. They were planning it to just tear it down, but the budget didn't go well."

"That is unfortunate," I replied as I leaned against the wall. My arm slithered down as I pressed against it. I pull back and my arm is covered in a slimy substance. I tried to rub it off, but it seems it stuck on my arm. I pulled it back, but it won't budge.

"So, where is this presidential suite? I'm sure it's better..." I pulled, "than..." and pulled, "this..." and pulled, "one!" until my arm and hand separated.

The manager who seemed to be daydreaming broke his trance, "Oh, there is no presidential suite or any kind of that matter. We only have windows, fans, and air-conditioned rooms. Well, at least for now, until I fix the central AC in here, so you are lucky to see the grand restoration of this motel!” He exclaimed, his arm spreading like a bird ready to fly, all he needed to do was flap them.

“Wait, I thought you said the hotel is already open?”

“It is.”

“But you said—”

“I know, I want the people to have their last experience in this motel.”

“Hopefully not die inside the motel.” I snickered.

“Aww don’t be like that, otherwise I would have to cut your salary before I hire you,” he looked at me and smiled. I should tone down the sarcasm before I get my first paycheck,“Besides, you haven’t seen the kitchen and the dining hall.”

“Oh yeah, I was going to ask about that. How are the equipment in the kitchen?”

“Well, they are in good condition…” he avoided eye contact, “I guess you can say they haven't seen the light of day?”

“O...kay?” There was a moment of silence between the walls of stickiness and the flickering of the lights. I think I need to rethink my decision to work in this podunk motel, “Can we see the kitchen now?”

Right about now I think.

“Sure!” He smiled, “Just leave your suitcase here so you won’t get tired with all that carrying.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, it has my stuff inside, so I prefer to take it with me until I am settled.” I smiled, hiding the regret between my teeth.

The oblivious Manager just smiled, “Suit yourself then.”

We left the room and walked again to the old hallway back into the lobby. No more bed creaking, the rodents still squeaking, and one of the lights died out. Walking past the lobby again and this time to the hallway to the right. This time there are no doors, but flowers and soft lights that complement the decaying maroon wallpaper. It did serve a rustic feel to it and not looking any more like a haunted house.

At the end is a sliding door to the dining hall, it seemed to have been brand new. The door is lacquered with varnish and the sliding mechanism has been oiled up to maintain it.

“This seems to be brand-new.” I knocked at the door; it left a minimal sound.

“Indeed it is, the doors before were actually teeming with termites, I was going to reuse it but my contractor said no.”

“What were you going to use it for?”

“Wood sculptures.” He rummaged in his suit pockets and brought out a small wooden duck. It seemed to be rough around the edges, but it is a wooden duck, “I am doing it as a hobby and hopefully use my sculptures as décor here.”

I nodded in response, “Shall we?” I nodded again and we opened the doors to the dining area.

The dining room is quite spacious, looking like a mini theatre than a dining room. There were several rows of tables and chairs that were dressed with a brighter shade of maroon for every table.

The walls are still layered with maroon wallpaper and the floor is nailed with maple floorboards adding that touch of dark allure to this whole place. All of the furniture aligns to a stage with a grand piano as its main guest.

The thing that surprises me is that this is the only room where most of the stuff, including the wallpaper, is new from its main doors to its walls, flooring, furniture, and the piano. But the portion of that room is blocked off by a finely dusted velvet rope with a sign accompanied by it: “Closed until Supper!”

“This feels so… brand new,” my eyes scouting everything like a surveillance camera.

“It is, isn't it?” He smiled as he walked ahead and I followed suit, “As you see here, this was the first thing the previous manager of the motel wanted to renovate. Most of our funds were poured into this dining hall, it is our crowned jewel. So, as the current manager, I am responsible for cleaning and dusting it, especially that piano over there.” He pointed to the piano; an overhead light shines on the black finished cover.

“Does it still work?”

“Unfortunately, the keys are still out of tune. We are planning to fix that hunk of junk, but it is out of our budget for the repairs. Our main priority is renovating the lobby. In the meantime, it is treated as a decoration,” he grumbled.

“I was wondering about that, why didn’t you fix the lobby first? I assumed that was the priority since that is the first place your guests will be seeing,” I asked as we went further away from the dining theatre and went close to what it seems like a breakfast bar.

It has an old rustic feel to it, the tables seem to be either worn out or badly crafted, but they seem to work. Either way, every chair is adorned with a tiny velvet cushion, and the table still has that maroon tablecloth. There is the bar table in the front, it seems slightly worn out, but the varnish is still shiny.

“As I said, the previous manager prioritized the hall first than the lobby regardless of my protest. But he is gone and I am the boss, my plan is to renovate the lobby,” he just sighed, it seems the question is already worn out, “Regardless, this is the place where you will be working from now on if you accept. Since most of the guests prefer to dine outside, I want you to handle the breakfast bar right here. No one in this town serves breakfast meals, might as well take the opportunity to open a breakfast bar.” He sat on one of the bar stools, giving a slight creek as he swiveled around. “Any questions?”

“How will the products and ingredients be handled?”

“I have a connection to the wet and dry markets; they will deliver any ingredients you requested first thing in the morning. As long as it’s feasible.”

“What breakfast do you have in mind? Western? Eastern? Exotic? Brunch?”

“I’ll leave that to your judgment; my expertise is only running a motel, not in running a kitchen.”

“How well-equipped is the kitchen?” I actually looked around, “Where exactly is the kitchen?”

“It’s actually right behind the bar, quite hidden from the patrons,” He stood up as he left off slight “humph” as he exhaled, “Let me show you.”

He walked back to the bar and at the end of it was a door to the kitchen. It was a bit dark until he opened the lights. Just like the dining theatre, it’s renovated to some degree. The right side of the kitchen is taped off, but the tape looks like it was recently added. Most of it was the other kitchen doors leading to what I assume was the dining theatre and half of the kitchen that was closer to it. The lights turned off.

On the left side of the kitchen, it has a sink, a warewashing machine, and drying racks. There is the storage area that is currently empty for either cold and dry products.

There is a food preparation table with another kitchen sink on one end and a stove at the other end. and right next to it is the meal preparation area. Above that area are some pans, and utensils, and below it is the stove with a single blender placed in the corner.

There used to be a service area right in front of me, but it seems it was removed for easier movement. There are two doors right next to the storage area, one small and one big. I assumed the small one leads to the comfort room and the big one seems to be a door leading outside for the receiving of both the cold and dry products.

All in all, as bare as it is. It is still a kitchen. Surprisingly, not in a layer of dust, he must have cleaned it beforehand.

“Well, what do you think?” He asked, holding both of his palms as his tone gave off a slight nervousness in the air.

“Well, a kitchen is a kitchen.” I looked around one more time and I smiled, “When do I start?”