Honey Apiary

3. Honey Apiary - Being

Once the Nordic god left her new living space, she inspected the contents of the fridge. Instead of milk was a classy labeled sparkling wine with a Juniper Resort postcard attached. The note welcomed her as the new manager. Really! Did she land that high class of a job?

On the drive, she kept thinking that the pictures on the website looked too good to be true. She expected her promised cabin to be a dilapidated shack and all employees to be toothless bumpkins. Here she was in a beautiful log cabin with more than one room. Bonus, being welcomed by a handsome man who was taking her to dinner. It was all over her level of expertise in the hospitality industry.

Whoever had stocked the fridge had paid attention to her likes. There was even some craft beer that she had never heard of. It must be in response to ending her likes with the made-up comment about enjoying regional and artisanal specialties in an attempt to look tuned into the needs of upscale clients who would frequent nice resorts in the Rockies. Her budget was more along the lines of bar burgers and dollar pitchers.

Honey still couldn't believe she landed this job. The night manager and longtime friend, George, was the one who got her to apply. She kept telling him it was beyond her skill set. He insisted that she did have all the skill sets necessary as he fluffed up her resume to fit the ad's description and told her that she didn't want to be stuck in the same town she grew up and went to college in. Being from the Colorado Rockies, he felt she had the soul of a westerner.

And here she was, with champagne in the fridge and a high quality furnished cabin. The living quarters lowered her monthly salary but included clean sheets and towels that the resort provided. She was encouraged to take it because apartments weren't readily available in the area.

On the drive, Honey kept telling herself she could do it. She would not fail even though she knew she was grossly under-qualified. Her college job was at a slowly crumbling Inn that rarely was full and struggled to get good-paying gigs like family reunions or weddings. She spent most of her time "managing the inn" by trying to get the busboy and maids from smoking pot on the grounds.

Her stomach grumbled. She opened a few cabinets and found glasses and plates. Now is champagne more of a lunch thing or dinner thing, she questioned? Mimosas are a brunch thing that was one thing her previous job taught her. People liked brunch and mimosas. The Inn's mimosas Sunday brunch was the only money maker and kept it from going completely under.

With a ham and cheese sandwich made, she popped the champagne and took a drink from the bottle. Mmm, yes, it paired nicely with the swiss cheese on the sandwich. She laughed at herself. "See, I can do this job," she said to the empty room.

With a sandwich in hand, she went to check out the bedroom and bathroom. Nordic god hadn't mentioned that the bed was a white cloud of fluffy duvet and pillows nor that the bathroom was stocked with high-end products. She took another bite of the sandwich and was suddenly aware of crumbs and the fact she'd left the plate on the counter. Dread replaced the little bit of confidence she'd mustered.

She said to herself, "Ok, it's time to be the person. Shit, what is that saying about pretending to be the person you think you are. Or, projecting the image that you want to become. Whatever the saying is, I need to step it up to equal what this cabin is telling me that my boss thinks I am. Yeah, that's clear as swamp water."

She went back into the kitchen, put her sandwich on the plate, and cleaned up the mess from making it. She poured some champagne into a small wine glass. The island had two bar stools at one end, so she sat down with her lunch. She noticed the high-end name brands of the appliances and thought, damn, this place was better equipped than any house she had ever lived in. After about three bites, she grabbed her phone and saw that there was no reception. The upscale cabin had one flaw.