Brigits Flame Entry for July 2009, Week 2: Trash
“Jenkins, report on the new hotel.”
“Yes, sir. The new hotel is almost complete. Construction should be done in another week, two on the outside.”
“Two weeks?! That's almost six months ahead of schedule.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“The last I heard, we were held up due to the mandatory recycling act. Where did you get the necessary materials to meet the thirty-five percent minimum?”
“Lot forty-three, sir.”
“Lot forty-three?! Who approved that?”
“I did, sir.”
“How much of lot forty-three did you use?”
“All of it, sir. It actually lowered the real-estate taxes and the construction surcharges on the whole project because instead of just thirty-five percent recycled materials, we broke the fifty percent mark.”
“Jenkins, you're an idiot!”
“Sir?”
“You do realize that lot forty-three was radioactive, don't you? The whole project will have to be scrapped. Do you know how many millions of dollars went into that hotel?”
“Eighty-seven million, give or take a few hundred thousand.”
“Yes, eighty-seven million dollars up in smoke, up in green, glowing, radioactive smoke. Instead of a hotel, I have a hotel-shaped pile of trash that I'm going to have to pay someone else to raze and cart away. If you still had a job here, I'd dock your pay. Of course, I'd have to dock it for the next five hundred years to even come close to recouping my money.”
“Five hundred eighty-two years, not accounting for inflation, taxes, current interest rates...”
“Jenkins, I'm trying to fire you here. Do you mind?”
“Sorry, sir, but before you fire me, may I ask you a few questions?”
“Oh sure, what the hell. The amount of time and effort lost on this project is all ready monumental. What's another fifteen minutes?”
“Who knows lot forty-three was radioactive other than you, me, and a custodian who appears to be growing a third arm? As I recall, you didn't even know until after the metallurgic analysis came back from the lab, a metallurgic analysis which seems to have gone missing, I might add.”
“As far as I know, no one knows. The area wasn't certified to store radioactive material and I didn't feel like coughing up the quarter billion to get it certified, but just because no one knows doesn't mean no one will find out. Someone is going to figure it out when our clientele starts dropping like flies.”
“Our clientele is unlikely to notice anything is wrong until twenty or more years after their stay, and with the current cancer rate in this country, I would doubt they could trace it back to this hotel. I would doubt anyone would even think to look. The only people who might notice would be our personnel or potentially a live-in penthouse client. I took the liberty of lead-shielding both the penthouse and the first floor. This should protect all of our staff from any immediate mutations with the exception of the cleaning crew and assuming your policy on acquiring migrant workers with a questionable legal status hasn't changed, they're unlikely to complain, at least not for long.”
“So you're saying you planned this from the start?”
“Pretty much, yes sir. It seemed the best way to get rid of the toxic waste and get the hotel done under deadline and under budget.”
“Anything else you wanted to ask me?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well Jenkins. Clean out your desk.”
“Sir?”
“I can't have my new senior partner working in my assistant's office, now can I?”
“Yes, sir. The new hotel is almost complete. Construction should be done in another week, two on the outside.”
“Two weeks?! That's almost six months ahead of schedule.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“The last I heard, we were held up due to the mandatory recycling act. Where did you get the necessary materials to meet the thirty-five percent minimum?”
“Lot forty-three, sir.”
“Lot forty-three?! Who approved that?”
“I did, sir.”
“How much of lot forty-three did you use?”
“All of it, sir. It actually lowered the real-estate taxes and the construction surcharges on the whole project because instead of just thirty-five percent recycled materials, we broke the fifty percent mark.”
“Jenkins, you're an idiot!”
“Sir?”
“You do realize that lot forty-three was radioactive, don't you? The whole project will have to be scrapped. Do you know how many millions of dollars went into that hotel?”
“Eighty-seven million, give or take a few hundred thousand.”
“Yes, eighty-seven million dollars up in smoke, up in green, glowing, radioactive smoke. Instead of a hotel, I have a hotel-shaped pile of trash that I'm going to have to pay someone else to raze and cart away. If you still had a job here, I'd dock your pay. Of course, I'd have to dock it for the next five hundred years to even come close to recouping my money.”
“Five hundred eighty-two years, not accounting for inflation, taxes, current interest rates...”
“Jenkins, I'm trying to fire you here. Do you mind?”
“Sorry, sir, but before you fire me, may I ask you a few questions?”
“Oh sure, what the hell. The amount of time and effort lost on this project is all ready monumental. What's another fifteen minutes?”
“Who knows lot forty-three was radioactive other than you, me, and a custodian who appears to be growing a third arm? As I recall, you didn't even know until after the metallurgic analysis came back from the lab, a metallurgic analysis which seems to have gone missing, I might add.”
“As far as I know, no one knows. The area wasn't certified to store radioactive material and I didn't feel like coughing up the quarter billion to get it certified, but just because no one knows doesn't mean no one will find out. Someone is going to figure it out when our clientele starts dropping like flies.”
“Our clientele is unlikely to notice anything is wrong until twenty or more years after their stay, and with the current cancer rate in this country, I would doubt they could trace it back to this hotel. I would doubt anyone would even think to look. The only people who might notice would be our personnel or potentially a live-in penthouse client. I took the liberty of lead-shielding both the penthouse and the first floor. This should protect all of our staff from any immediate mutations with the exception of the cleaning crew and assuming your policy on acquiring migrant workers with a questionable legal status hasn't changed, they're unlikely to complain, at least not for long.”
“So you're saying you planned this from the start?”
“Pretty much, yes sir. It seemed the best way to get rid of the toxic waste and get the hotel done under deadline and under budget.”
“Anything else you wanted to ask me?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well Jenkins. Clean out your desk.”
“Sir?”
“I can't have my new senior partner working in my assistant's office, now can I?”