September 1996




Tires crunched in the gravel driveway, interrupting Bill's nightly newstime nap.

“Do you think they will like it?” his wife, Pat, asked nervously.

“Who gives a damn? They agreed to $135 night, it is the peak of leaf-peeper season, where else are they gonna go?” snapped Bill.

“I'm just nervous… I'm not sure if these individual soufflés will work for breakfast … “

“Quit fussing over the soufflés. What's their last name again? Washington?”

“Bill … “

Pat sighed with a weary sense of exasperation. She knew where this was headed and with the guests approaching, there wasn't time. She tried evasion.

“Mmm, I think so.”

“Don't play loosey-goosey with me, dangnamit. If they are negroes, I'll be nice. I just wanted to brook myself in case they were pushy Jewish folks.”

“Bill, lower your voice, they are outside, for pete's sake. And you know you cannot discriminate, not in a business. It is against the law.”

“I am not discriminating, I am trying to be a good hotelier. That last Jewish couple we had were disappointed we didn't have the Sunday Times … I just want to be prepared.”

With every molecule in his body, Bill tried to look innocent and somewhat hurt at being accused of being a racist. After nearly three decades of marriage, though, Pat failed to fall for the ruse.

“This inn was your idea and I know you are smart enough to not ruin our retirement with your white-bread narrow-minded views. Now tuck your shirt in and look presentable. They are late, they must have had a long drive getting here, it is our job to welcome them, regardless of their skin tone.”

Bill decided a change of subject would be his best bet of getting out of this disagreement with some pride intact.

“Speaking of them being late, didn't you tell them that check-in time was from 4:30 to 6:45? Showing up at 7:30 -- just shows they don't respect our hours of operation. Did you tell them about our late check-in fee?”

“Bill, we don't have a late check-in fee.”

Toddling over to his computer, Bill pecked a little on the keyboard, printed out an invoice, and sneered “Well, we do now.”

***

Tom and Joann hadn't meant to be late to the Do Drop In. They were trapped in turnpike traffic, had an argument about Tom's shortcut that put them in an hour-long circle, and stopped for a quick snack. As they were unloading their gear from the car, Bill's newly-created fifteen dollar late fee was being charged to their Visa.

Joann had always been a bed & breakfast fan, and in the past year of dating Tom, she'd convinced him of the advantages of staying in quaint mom-and-pop Victorians. Despite their winning streak, Tom remained a bit reluctant prior to arrival, worried they'd run out of luck and hit a horrible place. He often joked that he'd need a “doily detox” at a roadside motel.

As they sank into their narrow bed at the Do Drop In, Tom's jaws clenched.

“Late check-in charge? Who's heard of that? We gave them our credit card to guarantee late arrival, just like the hotels do … where'd you hear about this place, anyway?”

“Tom, we both found this place using the internet. The book I have doesn't even have this guy listed.”

Tom snorted, he knew Joann would win this argument.

He looked up at the ceiling and saw that there was about a one-inch gap between the ceiling and the wall. His eyes followed a water stain down the rough-hewn logs, and quickly spotted gaps between the floor and the wall. Before he could thoroughly digest the mechanics of this seemingly-suspended wall, he was startled to see two army boots -- or, at least, the rounded toes of the boots - through the crack by the floor. Not wanting to say anything to Joann, for fear of alerting the peeping tom, he Tom quickly flipped open his laptop.

“Oh, Tom, really! The laptop … This is supposed to be a romantic weekend … what do you mean shuuuush?”

Tom quickly typed on his laptop “I think the innkeeper is standing outside our room… is he a peeping Tom?”

***

Retired Air Force Sergeant Bill Pennebaker was not spying on his guests. He was urinating on the expensive terra cotta geranium planter outside the guest cabin. The only way to keep the deer from chewing up the landscape was the scent of testosterone. Pat's long-departed Schnauzer, Minty, had done a thorough job watering the lawn, but since Minty had crossed the rainbow bridge, it was now up to Bill to keep the place looking spiffy.

As he emptied his voluminous bladder, Bill reflected on his life and realized that his retirement was not quite dream material. Then again, Bill's life was pockmarked with soaring dreams and crashing failures. He had vowed this stint in the innkeeping business would be his one last hurrah, his one final chance to make his mark on this planet.

A flash of headlights from the neighbors startled him; on prior night time waterings, the neighbors had accused him of public indecency. No sense in starting a fight tonight, not with paying guests in the cabin. Unable to stop the steady stream, Bill stepped as close as possible to a nearby holly bush, and gave a friendly hi-neighbor wave with his free hand. Mr. Pennebaker was woefully unaware of the 6-point buck, snacking on the other side of the holly.

***

When Pat heard Bill's panicked yelps, she ran to find him writhing, face down, on the ground. Their neighbor Ray and paying guests Tom and Joann stood around Bill in a frozen triptych of futility. Only after Tom and Joann ran to the main house to call 9-1-1 did Pat ascertain the nature of Bill's injury.

While the paramedics attended to Bill, Pat grabbed her HABBI To Help handbook, as a drowning victim would cling to a buoyant piece of wood. Thumbing through the index, she found plenty of references. A for ambulance, C for crisis, E for emergency:

“If the guest is taken away from your premises in an ambulance, a good innkeeper will accompany the guest to the appropriate medical facility. Day-old cookies in a festive, seasonally appropriate baggie make an excellent snack for accompanying family members, and will provide the necessary diversion while you (discreetly) seek legal counsel.

“[ hint: as troubles will inevitably happen from time to time, we recommend keeping a to-go bag of snacks in the freezer. Sugar cookies thaw faster than you can say 'primary care physician.']

“If an innkeeper/staff member is taken from your premises in an ambulance, it is important that, when possible, the healthy innkeeper resist the urge to accompany their spouse/life partner/employee and stay on the premises. This assures guests that you are running a professional operation. It also enables you to stay behind and prevent any unnecessary -- and costly -- violations of your cancellation policy that may stem from a crisis.”

Dutifully, Pat stayed behind and mulled cider for the guests. She knew she'd hear about this later. She was a HABBI poster child, through and through. The Hospitality Association of Bed & Breakfast Innkeepers - better known as HABBI - had been Pat's life raft through this first tumultuous year of owning a small inn. HABBI's “Innkeeping: Run with the Inn Crowd” book was considered the “bible” of new B&B owners. The monthly newsletter reminded members to pay their dues on time, and made innkeepers feel they were getting their money's worth.

Bill hadn't wanted to join HABBI, and he groused for days after Pat mailed in their first $450 membership check. He disliked their cult-like insistence on pronouncing HABBI so it almost sounded like the word “happy” … but Pat thought it was ingenious and always like to work HABBI into a sentence, her most favorite being “we are HABBI to help.” Most guests had not heard of the trade association and left with the mistaken impression that Pat was valiantly trying to overcome a speech impediment.

However much Bill grumbled, he knew deep down that HABBI had helped them get where they were. HABBI's AIM UP [Aspiring Innkeepers Mentor Understudy Program] seminar was what finally convinced Pat that owning an inn would, truly, be their dream come true.