le tout ensemble redux
These photographs of travel and architecture are mine, unless otherwise stated...
Foggy night in New Orleans
November, 2011
Risselty-rossellty, hey bom-bosselty, nickelty, knackelty, rustical quality willaby-wallaby now, now, now! (Taken with instagram)
Our new mornings
Today, Independence Day, I celebrate my liberation from the glamorous world of innkeeping. After breakfast tomorrow I show my last guests the door. Forever. And ever. Amen. Fifteen years and playing host to literally thousands of the wretched refuse of the road I am worn and weary and probably some worse for the wear.
Anyone who has worked with the public will say that it should be required of everyone. Without this kind of exposure to one’s fellow man, woman and child, can one truly see the world as it is? Having had that “public” in my house, day in and day out, I feel this doubly so, but I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone.
In this line of work I have seen it all. And I mean “it all.” One of the most important life lessons I take away from this is, when traveling, my innkeeper knows a lot more about me than I might find comforting. I’ve known who my guests read, what they wear, how they snack, when they’ve had too much to drink and often exactly what it was that made them sick, thanks to the ridiculous take-away souvenir vessels popular with tacky Bourbon Street karaoke bars. I have also learned more than I needed to about the intimacies between guests because they were often indiscreet with the evidence. Unfortunately, I’ve also even had to witness these encounters first hand, too, when they hadn’t realized that the mid-afternoon knock at the door was made by someone with a key and knowledge of their presence would have been appreciated. And then there was that time when they actually said, “Come in!” when I would rather they had not…
I have also had to deal with things too unpleasant to write about, although many of you reading this have heard me describe them. But we are messy creatures and I suppose part of this role involves bumping up against some of that ugliness. Of course, more often than not, the unpleasant bits of this work came from the tedious and dull, or the rude and inconsiderate instead of the disgusting. Humor (and alcohol) made this at least a bit more palatable. Usually…
But, to be honest, the vast majority of the folks that I have encountered in this endeavor have been, at the very least, kind and pleasant. Several that I have met along the way have even been spectacular people, some of whom I now count as very close friends. Not once, in fifteen years, did anyone every steal more than a salt shaker (literally). Never did anyone intentionally destroy something, although there were a few times when things were damaged out of sheer inconsideration or stupidity (see above). And since this situation involves handing out house keys to perfect strangers, it is remarkable that I have never once felt anything but completely safe in my crowded house.
One of my dear friends, Sheelah, I met when she stayed here years ago as a paying guest. She saw immediately through my thick innkeeper pseudo-professionalism and insisted we be friends by producing a freshly rolled joint on a plate of McKenzie’s turtles. After many years of return visits, bottles of wine and listening to hours of my ceaseless ravings, she said, “Bryan, why are you an innkeeper? You hate people!”
We’ve laughed and laughed about that, never disagreeing. But now I look back at this and think that maybe it isn’t true at all. I don’t think I hate people. I’m immensely entertained by them, especially the inappropriate and slovenly! Why else would I carry on so much about them? I surely don’t have much to say about nice, well-turned out folk who show up on time, re-use their bath towels and go home to write thank you notes. Not that I don’t appreciate all that but nice isn’t nearly as interesting as naughty. Ever!
It will no doubt take years and years for this experience to mellow into something that I completely understand. I can definitely imagine worse situations to be in. In spite of everything, it has allowed me to live in two magnificent houses that I would never have been able to afford otherwise, both of which have been rescued from years of abuse, rehabilitated and offered back to the world better than the way we found them.
So I will simply say I’m glad this is over. I’ll let you know down the road if it’s been great or not. But I do know, for certain, that I will never, ever, set foot in another bed and breakfast again for as long as I live!
“The Best Houses of all Time in L.A.”
http://www.latimes.com/features/home/la-hm-besthouse27-pg,0,746372.photogallery
