The Man Living on Our Floor Part Seven

Okay, I kind of screwed up the story a bit by letting it slip that the Man Living on Our Floor scored a plush job. At least it won't make you think I'm a bastard this episode, where we take a step back to the week before he got it.

Part Seven

We asked the Man Living On Our Floor to leave exactly one month after he moved in - a deadline I'd established in my head from the start. Now we weren't being pricks. He had 300 pounds in the bank and, even though he'd lost his night porter position, he still had his Smile job. So he had plenty of money to stay in a hostel until his monthly paycheck came in, which would put him in a decent financial position to get a room somewhere.

He left on the designated day, thanking us sincerely and promising he'd pay us back in a big way when he got a decent job. I said, "Don't worry about it". His track record with paying people back wasn't so crash hot so I thought it better not to expect anything. So, anyway, off he went to check into the YMCA. Or so we thought.

Apparently the Man Formerly Living on Our Floor started spending a ridiculous amount of time at work over the next few days (like hanging out downstairs a few hours before his shift). A couple of people, friends and coworkers, mentioned they were worried about him. I talked to Carla and it turned out that he'd used his money to buy 200 quid's worth of camping equipment and clothing. He intended to save cash by camping, wait for it, in a cemetary next to, wait for it again, his grandmother's grave. The rest he'd mostly spent on tobacco and maybe tea. The Man Formerly Living on Our Floor treated food as a luxury item ranked after tobacco and tea on the need-to-buy list. He figured camping was the cheapest way to live while he looked for the high paying job he was certain he'd get and that we were equally certain he wouldn't.

We went for a beer with our eccentric friend (I know you're supposed to be rich to be eccentric but I'll make an exception) and asked him about where he was living. He was a bit shocked to discover we knew but I think he wanted us to know in the hope we'd ask him back. A lot of his aristocratic shtick is to act clueless when it comes to the mundane parts of life (ie feeding and lodging one's self) in the hope that a serf will take over these tasks so one could concentrate on the important things in life. Like hitting on hot 20 year olds and talking bullocks about the Cumbrian independence movement. But we were never going to take him back because it wouldn't help. He'd never leave if we did.

The worst thing about the whole situation was that the Man Formerly Living on Our Floor could never be bothered putting the tent up. He just slept in doorways after wandering around for much of each night - maybe partaking in his favourite pastime of clubbing with the young ones from the hostel.

So from his headquarters around the corner from where he worked the Man Formerly Living on Our Floor plotted his entrance into the world of high paying IT jobs. We thought he was totally delusional and were genuinely worried about him - to the point where we were planning to find his brother's number and call him in Australia to tell him what was going on. The Man should go live with his mum for a while we thought. He wasn't on his way up he was on his way out.

But before we could enact our plan it happened. One of the many calls taken for him by his secretary (the pregnant 17 year old at the Smile shop), while we were drinking across the road in the Boater, was the agency. They had an interview lined up for him in Warminster. He went along the next day after coming to our place to get cleaned up and, bam, was offered the job. 35000 pounds a year plus a car. And that was that. He was off the street and into the YHA.