The building must have sighed with relief, feeling the geometrically patterned, deliciously thick carpets back where they belonged, and the slick, patterned floor tiles replaced. I imagine, after so many years, the old girl wasgrateful for the maids buffing the elevators’ old, mirrored doors and seeing its hallways and lobby anew through the glitter of massive chandeliers.
But to bring it up to today’s standards, updates are still needed in the kitchens, storerooms, parking, lobby, and meeting rooms. Servicing those areas is part of my job.
All the bars and restaurants are on the main floor of the hotel. Offices and the kitchen are in the mezzanine, then there are a few floors of event rooms, like the glorious ballroom on level C, with its painted ceiling and balconettes. That’s where I am now. The opening gala for the hotel was in this very room. What an exciting time it would have been for all.
“Good morning,” I hear behind me, and four men enter the ballroom. Two are wearing dark navy suits, and two are in well-worn coveralls.
I set my tray on a table, then stick out my hand to shake theirs. “Good morning,” I reply. “Bridget Kelly, Vale’s.”
“Jack Samson,” says one of the suits. Jack Samson is a gorgeous man with a perfect black beard, somewhere in his forties. He is filled to the knot of his expensive tie with confidence and schmooze. “I’ve heard great things about you.”
“Likewise,” I say honestly.
“Anything you need,” he says with obvious suggestion, “I’m your man.”
It’s not the first time I have had building managers try to sweet-talk me into being gentle on my inspections. Sometimes it’s cash, sometimes it’s offers of… other things.
“Thanks, Jack,” I say. “Is that for me?”
He hands me a large briefcase of sorts containing blueprints for the hotel. I have requested all of them, though my responsibilities only cover a few areas. I told them I need the prints for comparison and consistency, but privately, it’s because every corner of this place intrigues me.
We share some small talk, then the businessmen leave. The construction guys, Paul and Gary, appreciate the coffees I brought. They get to work, and I unroll the prints on a clean table.
As a licensed building inspector, I know a lot of things about a lot of things, not all of which I’m going to talk about, because it’s boring to most people. I’m aware of that. In a nutshell, I inspect materials and systems, and I provide solutions when needed. A lot of those solutions are basic, like energy efficiency, lighting, HVAC, and things like that, but I also make sure projects are up to code and safe while considering the preservation of historical features.
In this ballroom, I am concerned about accessibility. The width of the doors, the lack of ramps, and the lighting. I also have questions about plumbing and electricity, since the kitchen connects to this room. I compare the blueprints to Accor’s changes, and I assess old equipment for compliance with new energy standards. There’s a small issue with the HVAC system upgrade, so I head down to the subbasement to check on it as well as the boilers and ventilation. At the same time, I’m thinking that reported irregularities in the hotel’s power grid could originate from outdated systems or unauthorized modifications down there. I will check on that.
If the lobby of a hotel is the brain, with all its comings and goings, the basement and subbasement, which is one floor lower, make up the heart. Everything begins there. If the heart stops beating, well, we know how that ends.
There are two basement levels in this building, including the subbasement. Like other older hotels, the Dominion has its own share of tucked-away hallways and old stairwells with rusted banisters; the subbasement area here carries that eerie, abandoned feeling. It’s a little unnerving. The staff locker rooms are here, as well as laundry, a staff training room, the various housekeeping and maintenance departments, and storage. There is also a section for the building infrastructure, like the HVAC systems, electrical, plumbing, that sort of thing. That’s where I am now. I move through the systems, consulting the blueprints, going back and forth, and double-checking on my phone when needed.
“Excuse me, Paul?”
Paul Brzezicka, it says on his name tag, is a friendly, family-minded man. I’m assuming that’s a Polish name, and I’m glad I don’t have to pronounceit. Upstairs in the ballroom, he showed me his phone’s entire photo library, including snaps of seven cute grandkids, a frazzled-looking wife, and two tiny dogs. Now he is in the subbasement doing something with the plumbing. I’m glad he’s here, because he seems to know a lot about what’s going on.
“Yes?” He glances over his shoulder. “How can I help?”
“What are all these crates, do you know? They all say Montey Series Industries.” I gesture toward a stack of sturdy three-by-three wooden crates, all of them wrapped and shoved against the wall. Other than the company’s name, a large stamp on one side saysHARDWARE, but that’s all.
“New supplier. They arrived a couple of days ago, but they’re not on my orders, so I haven’t checked inside.”
My Google search of Montey Series Industries turns up nothing, which is weird. I study the crates with suspicion, then doubt. I need to get to the wall they’re blocking and check a vent, but this is a big stack. I can’t envision putting my shoulder behind them and shoving.
“I don’t suppose we could move them, could we?”
“Not my department.”
“But how do you know they aren’t? The crates don’t even say what’s in them.”
“I got nothing like that on my shipping list.” He seems not to care. “There’s always something piled up over there.”
“Huh.” I stare at the crates a little longer, annoyed. “Can we get someone to move them, please?”
He grabs his phone and starts talking. When he glances my way, he’s wearing a curious expression. He takes in whatever is being said, then he faces me with apology.
“They say we don’t have the manpower to move them right now.”
I’m a nice person. I really am. But I have a load of work to do, a deadline, and what some people call an Irish temper. Flares up out of nowhere. I’ve spent years training it to stay under control, but that has had mixed results. Sometimes, like now, it shows up in an intimidating expression, or so I’ve been told.
