Journals of a Hotel Manager

Mastra came back today as promised.  You’ve got to love the guy.  He is in his mid-fifties with thin oily hair and wears these huge spectacles that cover more than half of his wide brown face.  As an Assistant F&B Manager, he has no skills.  But as the head of the religious community of this island (he works as a priest in his village on his day off), we cannot afford to replace him.  He is in charge of all the temple ceremonies and acts as liaison officer to the neighboring villages when we need extra staff.  If he is as adept and passionate in operation as he is with religious matters, he would be a star.

“Pak John, I find you the auspicious date,” he did not seem very happy with that news.

“That’s great, Pak Mastra, right?  When can we hold the ceremony?” I tried to look triumphant and pushed some paperwork away to the corner of my desk to show that he had my full attention.  There were another three complaints last night and I am sick and tired of hearing them.  Skeptical as I am with this whole rat god story, I am nevertheless willing to try anything to annihilate these beasts.

“Next Monday, Pak.”

“That’s two days away!” I exclaimed with pleasure.

“But we have problem, Pak.  We need forty tails.” Mastra asserted.

That is a problem.  We have a standing contract with Rentakill, the largest local pest control company, but they are obviously not doing very well with the current situation.  The traps around the property yield anything from two to five rats a day.  The local community does not trust Rentakill because the management and staff are from a different religious sect.  But the locals are not willing to run pest control companies because of their religious belief of reincarnation.  A rat or a stray dog could be one’s grandmother or uncle.

“I will tell them they need to catch forty by Sunday.  Make arrangements for the Monday ceremony.” I told Mastra.

He looked at me with big eyes, made even bigger by his enormous spectacles.

“Yes, Pak John,” he excused himself politely before leaving my office.  He knows better than to question the command of a superior, especially one from a buleh.

I picked up the phone and dialed the general manager at Rentakill.

I sure hope the God of Rats is around on Monday.