Call me K. I know it’s weird. Everything is weird nowadays! Jack and Maria took away my identity and now there doesn’t appear to be any more of this precious thing called “identity.” I knew some people once who dumped their possessions into the river. We’re supposed to take care of our possessions. We’re supposed to like our possessions. People subtly move towards the exits, and if they’re in motor vehicles, they move toward the off ramps. They’re not so sure that they want to commence on this journey. I can’t say that I blame them. I’ve been through alot recently and it’s taken what might be referred to as a psychological toll. I won’t go so far as to call it the “road to perdition,” although that’s not necessarily the worst cliche I could apply to the overall damage. Any other letter of the alphabet would probably do just as well, but for certain obscure reasons, several years back, I arbitrarily settled on K. This is the gist of what happened:
It was late in the evening when I arrived. The village lay deep and silent in fresh-fallen snow. The casino plaza was hidden, veiled in fog and darkness, nor was there the faintest glimmer of light to show that a casino was even there in the first place. Some of the people around here must have serious psychological problems, I thought. Gonna eventually have to do something regarding all these psychological problems. On the wooden bridge leading from the main road to the village, I stood for a long time gazing out into what I think could only be called a vast seeming emptiness.
I sighed deeply, and proceeded on to find lodgings for the rest of the night. Luckily there were still people up and about at the inn, and although the receptionist could not provide a room and was somewhat upset by such a late and unexpected arrival, she was willing to let me sleep on a bag of straw in the lobby. Strange and unpleasant offer, no doubt, but I was already so dejected and tired that I accepted politely. Some locals were still enjoying their peanuts and beer in the adjoining restaurant/lounge, but I didn’t feel like being social, and after fetching the bag of straw down from the attic myself, I quietly bedded down next to the fireplace. It was a warm corner, the locals didn’t appear to be very intrusive, and, after letting my weary eyes stray over them briefly, I soon fell asleep, wondering how many of these people had serious psychological problems.
Well, surprise surprise, it wasn’t long before I was awakened. A young fellow in a beat up but stylish leather jacket was standing right there along with the receptionist, both of them staring down at me sternly. Turns out I wasn’t mistaken about the psychological problems! I noticed that some of the locals had turned turned their chairs in our direction, almost as if in expectation of some kind of amusing performance. The young fellow apologized for having wakened me, and introduced himself as the son of the casino manager. “You may not be aware of it, sir, but this village belongs to the casino, and whoever lives here or even passes one single night here does so, effectively, in the casino itself. Nobody is allowed to do that without the casino manager’s express authorization. As far as I can tell, sir, you lack such authorization. Unless I am mistaken, I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to immediately vacate the premises and proceed on your journey, at least until you are well beyond the village borders.”
I had half-risen in bed at this point, smoothing down my hair and squinting up at these charmers. “What village is this, anyways? And what’s all this talk about a casino?”
Several of the locals shook their heads in astonishment.
“Sir, have you never heard of Count Dracula? Have you never heard of his world-famous casino?”
“And I really need authorization just to sleep here?” This was almost starting to seem like something straight out of Franz Kafka!
“One must indeed have received authorization” the young fellow replied. There was a certain sarcastic contempt for my ignorance as he then appealed to the locals with a dramatic wave and tone of voice: “Who knows? Maybe express authorization is just a thing of the past! Maybe I, the manager’s son, wasn’t even informed of it! Maybe I’m just wandering around here totally clueless as to how things are run here!”
Not surprisingly, the locals laughed heartily at this clever sally of his.
“Well then,” I mumbled, pushing the blanket away and getting up- “If it’s so important, I’ll go get authorization.”
“And just where might you get that, sir?”
“From Count Dracula, I suppose- do you have any better suggestions?”
The entire room completely erupted in laughter, and it lasted unabated for about 20 or 25 minutes. I had never witnessed such a sudden loss of control! The locals were pounding on the table, themselves, and each other, tears streaming down their faces- the two charmers standing over me were doubled over and heaving, barely able to stand, and leaning on one another and the walls for support. Turns out I wasn’t mistaken about the psychological problems! I laid back down, closed my eyes, and waited semi-patiently for these unusual people to “get it out of their systems.”
Finally, after the young fellow had regained a little composure, he cried, tears in his eyes, and a voice hoarse from uncontrollable laughter, “Authorization from Count Dracula at this hour of night!” which, of course, just set the whole group off again. I continued lying there, wondering for a moment if this wasn’t all just a dream.
I waited until the laughter had almost completely subsided before sitting up again and trying to get a straight answer.
“If it’s impossible to get authorization at this hour of night, why did you wake me up? Why did you even let me bed down in the first place?”
The young fellow seemed deeply offended, and started gesticulating and shouting. “You hooligan! You wandering, anonymous, good-for-nothing, bizarre excuse for a human! You are vagueness incarnate, sir! I will not be addressed in that fashion!” He turned to the receptionist. “Susan, let’s get this guy hauled away!”
Before Susan could say anything, I cut them short. “People- chill out, please. OK? Take a couple deep breaths. All of this drama is completely unnecessary. I am the landscaper K whom the Count is expecting. I’ve been hired on to reconfigure the grounds of one of his rental properties. My assistants will be arriving tomorrow in a truck with all our equipment. I decided to come one night ahead of schedule, to get a better look at the place, but unfortunately lost my way several times because of the snow. That it was too late to report in to the Count was apparent to me without the benefit of your kind instruction. That is also why I have accepted this substandard sleeping arrangement which you have had the further discourtesy to interrupt with these trifles about authorization. That is all I have to say, ladies and gentlemen. Good night.”
And with that, I pulled the blanket back over me and turned on my side toward the fireplace.
“Landscaper? What the f? All of the Count’s rental properties are just dandy the way that they are! What an idea! What an outlandish idea! Why, I was just marvelling yesterday what a good job Groundskeeper Evans was doing!” I heard a number of remarks like this being muttered here and there around the lobby/lounge. Eventually the young fellow suggested calling the casino main office to check. It turned out that the phone was situated right next to the fireplace. I had completely overlooked it in my drowsy condition. Would I allow this continued disturbance of my much-needed night’s rest? What other choice did I have? I sat up in bed again and gazed wearily out into the room. The receptionist was back behind the desk gazing stonily into her computer. The telephone call was underway. It turned out that the casino manager had gone home for the night, but one of the assistant managers, a certain Mr. Fritz, was available. The young fellow in the leather jacket, identifying himself as Jack Schwartz, went on to report that he had come across a suspicious-looking man in his thirties sleeping calmly on a bag of straw off to the side of the lobby with a shoulder bag for a pillow and a telescoping aluminum walking stick within reach. He had naturally suspected the fellow of vagrancy or perhaps even worse, and as Susan had obviously failed to properly look into the matter, he, Jack Schwarz, felt duty bound to take on the responsibility himself. He reported to have roused and questioned the vagrant, asked for authorization, and having received none, ordered him to promptly and speedily continue on his way out of town, all of which the ingrate had rudely rebuffed, offering by way of excuse that he had been hired by the Count to do a “landscaping” job on one of his rental prperties. Jack went on to ask Mr. Fritz to inquire with human resources if a landscaper was really expected- yes, he would be happy to hold. There was a brief pause. The lobby/lounge remained utterly silent. After a few moments, Mr. Fritz was back on the line- his report was very brief. Jack hung up the phone, shouting menacingly “Indeed! Just as I thought! Not a trace of a landscaper! Just a clever, lying tramp who thought we would be taken in with such a transparently ridiculous story!”
For a moment I thought the whole assembly was going to tear me to pieces, and not knowing what else to do, I crawled under the blanket and readied myself for the assault. But the telephone rang again. Jack answered it hastily. He stood there for awhile listening to a relatively long statement, his face growing despondent by degrees, until he said in a low, dispirited voice: “Really? Are you sure? He has been officially hired? The head of the department confirmed it? Wow. That’s strange, really strange. Yes. OK, yes. Thanks for checking. Good-bye.”
I immediately pricked up my ears. So the casino had recognized me as a hired landscaper after all. Not that I was surprised, but after all of this bizarre “authorization” rigmarole I have to admit that I was a little concerned. I’d been through some permit/licensing issues a handful of times in my career, and I knew that sometimes they could take weeks to resolve. I had been led to believe that this job was shovel-ready!
