Handyman, shmandyman

For over a week now, I have been pestering the front desk at the hostel, to make sure they know I'm leaving and to clear up how many hours I need to work to cover my rent. I must have been down the loud, tinny steps a thousand times to try and reach Tim, the manager. It was all to no avail.

On Wednesday, I had a note on my door telling me that I should be moving out now (I wish). I had explained that I would waving 'sayonara' to this decrepit place at the end of the month. So I trawled downstairs, yet again, to remind the person on the desk. Sorted- or so I was told.

A night later, and it was Thursday. There was a more urgent 'Graham- SEE DESK ASAP' note on room #210. Less than worried, I tore the note from the door, and stormed downstairs. Still calm, but obviously irritated, I demanded what was going on. The duty manager was none-the-wiser as to what my situation was (of course, being that this same one person was the main one I had been talking to).

"You need to wait for Tim, mate," he uttered, in a perplexed tone.

"Well where is he? When is he here? Can you make sure he knows I need to see him?" I returned.

"Oh yeah, 'course I will. Sorry about the mix up, dude. He works on Monday next, so come down on Monday, and he'll sort it out."

So, less that content that it wasn't sorted on Thursday, I dragged my feet back upstairs (P.S. this was one of the main reasons my run was so long, in order to use some adrenalin and cool off.)

Saturday was the beginning of my last working weekend at the hostel. After a relaxed, yet heavy night on Friday night, I was in no mood to roll out of my pit too early, so in an act of defiance I started work at midday. At worst, I would pay $30 at the end for the hours missed in the morning.

With minimum production, I forced my way through those five hours. I performed the usual procedures- relieving floorboards of carpet, staples and nails, painting some borders, standing around. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to help out any of the management who had been swinging me around the place like David and his sling.

Today, the last day of work, the Sabbath day. Again, I struggled against the establishment and clocked on an hour late. When I got downstairs, I gently inquired about whether anyone was looking into my predicament- am I covered until Wednesday? Will I have to pay up the difference? Is Tim definitely going to be in tomorrow?

"Oh, you won't see Tim, he's gone on holiday for a fortnight." (?!)

"Well what's going to happen with my room and everything then? Is Pete (the Assistant Manager) going to be around?" I mused, obviously shocked and disturbed.

"He'll be in later, but I don't think he'll be able to help you," came the reply, from the bespectacled gnome of a desk attendant, whose name was Elvis.

I would say I was reaching the end of my tether, but I was well past that point: "Well WHO is going to sort it out then? SOMEONE needs to sort it, because I've been trying to get this straightened out for days if not weeks!"

Elvis raised his hand in a gesture of calmness, seemingly anticipating a scene. I am incapable of causing scenes, but I was reaching my composed limit. I marched upstairs, and back to my work. Today, I was varnishing floors. The fumes from the Liquid Plastic sent me into a distant demeanor- which was for the best.

Finally Pete, who I had liaised with on countless occasions, arrived at the hostel. Out of everyone, I realise this guy is a nice bloke, and I have a lot of time for him, even though he has constantly been the wall between problem and solution.

"I just have to go on what Tim has left in his notes, dude. It seems that once you work this weekend, your hours keep you paid up until Monday. So you just need to pay two more days to keep to your room to Wednesday," he said. Once he was finished reading the notes, he looked at me in an apologetic manner.

He continued, "Sorry about the confusion, man. You can have those two nights on a discount rate, so it's only $16 a night for those."

Now there's a resolution. I had prepared myself for a $60 payout, as I had gradually come to the realisation that I wouldn't be able to cover all the remaining days with my working hours. From start to finish, this final exchange took all of about three minutes. It was done without the aid of the Tim (who seems fictional to me, I have never seen his face), and used notes that haven't been updated since last Wednesday.

I breathed a sigh of gratitude and relief. Pete had gone from zero to hero. Finally I have no worries about the room, outstanding payments and anything I don't need to have anything more to do with this hostel. Three nights left....