The Imperial Hotel from the outside looks like someone decided to join a number of shacks halfway up a hill together to make one large building and rumour has it, that is exactly what did happen. Certainly the individual features of each part of the hotel would support this theory but the lack of the associate damp and stress point associated with conjoined buildings would suggest otherwise, it is of course entirely plausible that the mismatching of the exterior was a deliberate choice on the part of the architect. However the interior design suggests that the hotel was pitching at a market of people who wished to give the impression that they were roughing it but were not far away from their creature comforts. The lavish décor and plush furnishings were on par with the most grand of stately homes in the county and as such the cream of the area and surrounding areas were frequenters of the Imperials services, so it was an most unusual affair that one morning a young man in jogging bottoms and a T-Shirt was found sitting at the top table for breakfast. The gentry hauted their disapproval as they set to breakfast and made precision movements as they carved up their morning consumables. The young man was taking a more relaxed approached to dining and had taken it upon himself to arrange his breakfast items upon his table at the same time and not commit to any perceived order in which he was choosing to eat them. Feeling that the hotel had perhaps set up some kind of deliberate joke, Lady Beatrice Ffont-Bittocks decided she could no longer tolerate the man’s disregard for etiquette as he shockingly started extracted the raspberry preserve from the jar with a spoon. She attracted the head waiter and demanded that the aberration be ejected from the premises as the man was clearly a vagabond and had no right to be sharing the same dining room as someone with her breeding. Lady Ffont-Bittocks snorted her indignation when the head waiter informed her that the man was indeed a resident in the hotel and had been there for several days now. She decided that she had no choice but to see the hotel manager and demanded he be bought out to speak to her immediately and would not be paying her bill until she had spoken to him. Trying to avoid a scene, the head waiter caught one of the maids attention and she disappeared. A moment later a rotund middle-aged man who was beginning to bald invited her to his office where she could outline her complaint.
In the manager’s office she began to outline her complaint but was instructed to wait for the manager to arrive, a few minutes passed and Lady Ffont-Bittocks gasped in shock as the young man entered the office. “Why are you here? I demand to see the owner.” She spat.
“You are,” the man replied. “I am the owner.”
In response to the Haunted Wordsmith’s Daily Writing Challenge: the words today were Hotel, Breakfast, Caught.