MOTEL HISTORY: CHAPTER THREE
It had been a long time since a man and his son had seen potential in a fledgling truck stop. That man had long since passed away, leaving his son, now himself an old man and owner of a large apartment management company, to step in and deal with the morbid disaster that was his father's former pride and joy.
The old man, who shall be referred to as "Mr. K" (as I would like to continue my vocation here lawsuit free), had, for decades, allowed the motel and its property to run on its own. It had really been quite the cash cow. Although revenue had recently been on the downturn, he had always had extreme faith in the Johnsons. Moreover, he felt saddened by Mrs. Johnson's misfortune, and believed Mr. Johnson would eventually handle everything. However, with the bereaved husband's untimely death, Mr. K was left with no choice but to leave his Chicago office, and drive out to the old motel.
It had been years since he had seen the place, and what he now laid his eyes upon bore little resemblance to the quiet, country retreat he remembered. What he now saw resembled a cross between a run down country shack and a carnival act gone horribly wrong. The toothless couple, Al and Wendy, were still presiding over the decaying kingdom. Wendy, in all her toothless glory, sat in the office chair, clad in a bathrobe, hair disheveled. Along the front wall of the office were the now very dusty display cases that still contained the ultra creepy, life size Mrs. Johnson dolls. Al lay in his room, drunk, playing video games, utterly oblivious and unconcerned with the drug dealing and debauchery that now consumed the old motel. And there, back in the main residence, safely tucked in the master bedroom, was the actual Mrs. Johnson, blissfully unconscious, and unaware of all that was unfolding around her.
Mr K felt sick. He felt emotionally sick over the sadness that was now the once proud Mr. and Mrs Johnson, and actually sick to his stomach at the disgusting nature of the motel, and its even more disgusting toothless managers. He was also highly disturbed at the sight of the horror movie-esque dolls that graced the front office. In short order, he fired the toothless duo, threw out the dolls, and arranged for Mrs. Johnson to be transferred out of the motel, and into a proper facility.
Mr. K 's children, now grown and working for their father's management company, urged him to sell the property and be done with it. But he simply couldn't. The motel had been his father's baby, so to speak, and he still believed in its potential. Mr K brought in a management couple from one his apartments in Chicago, and set them up at the motel, hoping they could clean the place up. Initially, the new managers, Larry and Carol, did a decent job of cleaning up both the clientele and the property, but that didn't last long. Carol, at 300+ lbs, was more content to sit at the front desk, take in rent, and eat double cheeseburgers from the McDonalds down the street all day long. Larry, who was the encyclopedia definition of --well, I'm not sure there's actually an encyclopedia definition of semi-alcoholic, redneck womanizer, but if there was such a definition, his picture would be next to it.
Larry had hired a housekeeper named Kathy. Kathy was no prize, herself. She was a 60-ish Marlboro chain smoker, who had a leathery face, and probably not much more than an 8th grade eduacation. She had the same voice as Marge Simpson's sisters, Patty and Selma. (If you don't know the voice, you'll find plenty of examples on YouTube).
Anyway, Larry apparently decided that Kathy was a sweeter catch than his current cheese burger gobbling wife, and decided to make advances towards her. Kathy was not impressed, and somehow knew that Larry was pocketing some overnight rental cash. She managed to send word back to Mr K in Chicago, who then quickly set up a "sting". Larry was caught not reporting rent, and he and his wife were summarily fired. Kathy was given the managerial position on a temporary basis, until a proper, full time manager could be found. The plan was that Kathy's son, a man in his 30s, would move in and help her . He moved in, alright, and preceded to live the life of a demanding hermit, ordering his mother to cook for him, and provide him with anything he wanted. Kathy had apparently spent her life being ordered around by men, and had no means to stand up for herself.
Approximately three years had passed since Mr. Johnson had died, and since Mrs. Johnson had been moved back to a nursing facility. The following obituary appeared in the local paper:
The motel continued to stagnate, and Mr K found himself under increasing pressure to either make the old motel successful, or dump it once and for all.
Meanwhile, a decently educated guy, who lived in the same town, was really sick of the brutal sales company he had been wallowing in for the past six years. He was divorced , in his 40s, and wanted something stable and local....
It had been a long time since a man and his son had seen potential in a fledgling truck stop. That man had long since passed away, leaving his son, now himself an old man and owner of a large apartment management company, to step in and deal with the morbid disaster that was his father's former pride and joy.
The old man, who shall be referred to as "Mr. K" (as I would like to continue my vocation here lawsuit free), had, for decades, allowed the motel and its property to run on its own. It had really been quite the cash cow. Although revenue had recently been on the downturn, he had always had extreme faith in the Johnsons. Moreover, he felt saddened by Mrs. Johnson's misfortune, and believed Mr. Johnson would eventually handle everything. However, with the bereaved husband's untimely death, Mr. K was left with no choice but to leave his Chicago office, and drive out to the old motel.
It had been years since he had seen the place, and what he now laid his eyes upon bore little resemblance to the quiet, country retreat he remembered. What he now saw resembled a cross between a run down country shack and a carnival act gone horribly wrong. The toothless couple, Al and Wendy, were still presiding over the decaying kingdom. Wendy, in all her toothless glory, sat in the office chair, clad in a bathrobe, hair disheveled. Along the front wall of the office were the now very dusty display cases that still contained the ultra creepy, life size Mrs. Johnson dolls. Al lay in his room, drunk, playing video games, utterly oblivious and unconcerned with the drug dealing and debauchery that now consumed the old motel. And there, back in the main residence, safely tucked in the master bedroom, was the actual Mrs. Johnson, blissfully unconscious, and unaware of all that was unfolding around her.
Mr K felt sick. He felt emotionally sick over the sadness that was now the once proud Mr. and Mrs Johnson, and actually sick to his stomach at the disgusting nature of the motel, and its even more disgusting toothless managers. He was also highly disturbed at the sight of the horror movie-esque dolls that graced the front office. In short order, he fired the toothless duo, threw out the dolls, and arranged for Mrs. Johnson to be transferred out of the motel, and into a proper facility.
Mr. K 's children, now grown and working for their father's management company, urged him to sell the property and be done with it. But he simply couldn't. The motel had been his father's baby, so to speak, and he still believed in its potential. Mr K brought in a management couple from one his apartments in Chicago, and set them up at the motel, hoping they could clean the place up. Initially, the new managers, Larry and Carol, did a decent job of cleaning up both the clientele and the property, but that didn't last long. Carol, at 300+ lbs, was more content to sit at the front desk, take in rent, and eat double cheeseburgers from the McDonalds down the street all day long. Larry, who was the encyclopedia definition of --well, I'm not sure there's actually an encyclopedia definition of semi-alcoholic, redneck womanizer, but if there was such a definition, his picture would be next to it.
Larry had hired a housekeeper named Kathy. Kathy was no prize, herself. She was a 60-ish Marlboro chain smoker, who had a leathery face, and probably not much more than an 8th grade eduacation. She had the same voice as Marge Simpson's sisters, Patty and Selma. (If you don't know the voice, you'll find plenty of examples on YouTube).
Anyway, Larry apparently decided that Kathy was a sweeter catch than his current cheese burger gobbling wife, and decided to make advances towards her. Kathy was not impressed, and somehow knew that Larry was pocketing some overnight rental cash. She managed to send word back to Mr K in Chicago, who then quickly set up a "sting". Larry was caught not reporting rent, and he and his wife were summarily fired. Kathy was given the managerial position on a temporary basis, until a proper, full time manager could be found. The plan was that Kathy's son, a man in his 30s, would move in and help her . He moved in, alright, and preceded to live the life of a demanding hermit, ordering his mother to cook for him, and provide him with anything he wanted. Kathy had apparently spent her life being ordered around by men, and had no means to stand up for herself.
Approximately three years had passed since Mr. Johnson had died, and since Mrs. Johnson had been moved back to a nursing facility. The following obituary appeared in the local paper:
"..... Johnson, died Monday, Feb. 28, 2005, at the age of 57.
The motel continued to stagnate, and Mr K found himself under increasing pressure to either make the old motel successful, or dump it once and for all.
Meanwhile, a decently educated guy, who lived in the same town, was really sick of the brutal sales company he had been wallowing in for the past six years. He was divorced , in his 40s, and wanted something stable and local....
