Working Hard or Hardly Working?
by Christine Mosley

As we pulled into the driveway that day, we found a couple pacing the front porch. Who knows how long they had been out there? As I approached to greet him I saw that he held the stub of an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth, with an inch of ash hanging precariously from it.

"Is this the bed and breakfast?" he warbled, the cigar bouncing up and down with every word. "Yes, it is," I said, "you must be the... " He interrupted: "Sure, sure, I'm Arnie and this is my wife Babe. Hey, grab that suitcase there, will ya' Babe?"

She protested: "But Aah-nee, I can't carry that thing up all those stairs! I'll ruin my French manicure!"

"I'll take it for you, Babe." I offered, and reached over the two other smaller bags to get to the large one. "Please come in." Once they had composed themselves, I took the first chance I had to mention that cigar smoking was prohibited in the B&B.

"Oh, yeah, well, don't worry about this. I never light it. I'm just trying to quit smoking and chewing on it works for me."

Great. "Well, then, let's leave your bags here in the hall and I'll give you a quick tour of the downstairs." I led them throughout the downstairs rooms, covering the usual check-in topics. Babe, though, was paying little attention; she had flipped open a compact mirror and was applying lip gloss.

Arnie impatiently waited for me to stop talking. "So, where's the desserts and stuff?"

"Yes, we do offer tea, but I haven't gotten to it yet. We just got home from a wallpapering job and we weren't expecting you for another two hours."

"Well, the trip didn't take us as long as we thought, so we went to town for lunch. Pretty small town you got here, isn't it? Not much going on from what I can tell."

Damn that dangling ash. "I'll be happy to get a few brochures together as soon as I can get out those desserts I promised." Making my way toward the kitchen door, I asked if they preferred decaf or regular coffee.

"Say, Christine... hey, that's your name, right? Maybe you can answer a question. Babe and I were thinking about running a bed and breakfast when we retire. We figured it would be some fast, easy money. I mean, how hard could this be?"

I didn't answer right away; I had to catch myself first.

"I mean, you throw a few desserts out on the dining room table this afternoon and make a breakfast in the morning.".

"But, Aah-nee," Babe came to the rescue, "they have other jobs! They just got home from their other work."

The phone rang in the kitchen/office. I let the machine pick up. "Hello, do you have any rooms available this weekend? Can you make breakfast to order? I'm a vegan with numerous food allergies. Please call back at..."

Arnie turned to his wife and shrugged. "So they do a few jobs on the side. Everybody does, Babe. Most of their time they're just doing the B&B!"

I looked him directly in the eye. "Well, last night we cleaned the whole house, made the desserts for today, set the dining room table for breakfast, and folded ten baskets of laundry. This morning, we made breakfast, sent ten email confirmations, fielded phone calls, and then hung a room of wallpaper for a client. My husband is still unloading the car, someone needs to make dinner, and I'm here talking to you."

Just before the dangling ash fell out of his mouth and onto my sofa, he asked, "But do you guys have real jobs?"